


Both Are Infinite

by profdanglais



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-07-06 09:16:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15883089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profdanglais/pseuds/profdanglais
Summary: Busy single mother Emma Swan relies on her best friend, Royal Navy Captain Killian Jones, far too much to ever ruin things by acting on the crazy lust she feels for him. The boundaries between them are firmly set... until they're not, and suddenly Emma and Killian are forced to confront the feelings they've been suppressing for far too long.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 of a new story I'll be focusing on once I've finished Raised With the Fume of Sighs (which will happen soon!). This one will be a friends-to-lovers slow burn (or at least as slow as I can make it, I do like writing smut). I hope you enjoy it!

Emma and Henry arrived at the airport an hour early. Technically, this was Henry's fault as he had for once in his life been ready to go not only on time but well before it, and had stood at the door vibrating with excitement and shouting “C’mon, Mom, c’mon!” until Emma relented. Emma had to admit however that she was no less eager then her son, just perhaps slightly better at concealing it. Henry had bounced at the door of their house as Emma gathered her bag and keys, he had bounced in the backseat of the car on the way to the airport, he had bounced in the booth of the airport café as Emma tried to get him to drink the babyccino she’d bought to distract him while she kept an anxious eye on the arrivals board. He was bouncing now as they stood behind the ropes at the arrivals area. Anticipation was humming through Emma like a swarm of frantic bees, and she wished she had the freedom of her five-year-old to hop up and down and shout "Is that him?!" whenever the door opened.

Finally, it was him. "Killiaaaaaan!!!!!!" screamed Henry, pulling his hand from Emma's to dart under the ropes and fling himself at the tall, uniformed man who had just stepped through the doors.

"Whoa, there, lad," he replied, laughing, dropping his duffel to catch Henry and swing the boy up into his arms. "Where's your mum?" 

"Over there," said Henry, pointing. Killian turned and Emma's heart tried to beat itself free from her chest. _Every damn time_ , she thought with hopeless frustration. Every time she saw Killian after a long separation she coached herself beforehand, reminded herself how stupidly handsome he was, with his blue eyes and his damned perfect face, so she could be prepared for it, be calm and in control. It never worked. The face in question lit up with a warm grin and waves of heat rolled over her. She hoped like hell she wasn’t blushing.

Killian bent down to pick up his duffel, still holding Henry on his hip, and she swallowed a sigh at the competent grace of his movements. Henry was chattering a mile a minute and Killian was making appropriate responses. He caught her eye and with a small jerk of his head indicated that she should meet him at the end of the roped-off area. She scurried over, knowing that it was undignified to hurry but unable to wait.

Then he was there in front of her, his blue eyes bright with pleasure at seeing her after six endless months away. “Hello, love,” he said.

“Hi,” she replied, cursing the breathlessness of her voice. “How was your flight?”

“Long,” he said wryly. “The next time I come to Boston remind me not to go via Hong Kong.”

“Where’s Hing Hong?” piped up Henry, and Killian chuckled, returning his attention to the boy.

“Hong Kong, lad, and it’s in China. Do you remember where China is?”

“Yes! And I can find it on the globe!”

“Good lad. When we get home you can show me and I’ll show you where I’ve been.”

Emma’s heart skipped a beat at hearing him refer to her house as “home,” although there was no reason for him not to call it that. He always stayed there with her when he was on leave, and had done for the past five years. Hell, she’d purposely bought a three bedroom house rather than a much more affordable two bedroom so that Killian could have a room of his own and wouldn’t have to sleep on the couch. Or in her room, where she’d far rather have him.

 _Stop it,_ she told herself firmly. _You know better than to start thinking about him like that. He’s not here to play house with you, he’s here to relax and to see Henry._

But damn it, she wanted to play house with him. Or doctor, or nurse, or whatever game she had to play to get him naked and under her. She just wanted _him_. Had done for five long years.

Five years since the night they had met, when after a brief flirtation at a local bar she’d grabbed him and kissed him senseless, and would have done so much more had she not been interrupted by a frantic call from her babysitter, saying six-month-old Henry had a dangerously high fever and she was taking him to the hospital.

Emma had been nowhere near sober enough to drive, and she’d nearly panicked, _would_ have panicked, but then Killian had stepped in and taken control of the situation with all the calm authority of the Royal Navy commander he had been then. In minutes, they had been in a cab, racing to the hospital, where Killian had somehow managed to get them to the front of the emergency room waiting list. He had stayed with Emma, holding her hand and repeating calming platitudes until the doctor had returned to say that Henry had a respiratory infection but that it had been caught before it became too serious, that his temperature was down below the dangerous range and he was going to be okay.

Emma had burst into tears of relief and Killian had held her, letting her drench the front of his uniform coat until the nurse brought Henry out and Emma had clutched her baby to her with desperate arms.

He’d returned to her apartment with them to make sure they got home safely, and Emma had offered him the sofa for the night. It was the least she could do, she thought, as it was already three am and she could hardly kick out onto the cold morning streets the man who had been there for her, keeping her calm and managing everything throughout the most trying ordeal of her life.

When they awoke the next morning, they discovered that they had become friends. Somehow, sharing that ordeal had formed a bond between them, a bond that Emma rapidly came to rely on, to need far too much to jeopardise it by ever acting on the powerful attraction she still felt for him. True friends had been all too rare in her life, and she needed to ensure Killian remained one more than she needed to fuck him. Though it was sometimes _really_ hard to remember that.

Fortunately, Killian had never given any indication that he wanted more than friendship from her. He hadn’t even wanted to kiss her, she reminded herself, that move had been all hers. She was probably lucky that he hadn’t immediately written her off as a crazy person, particularly after the way she’d then freaked out talking to the babysitter. His friendship was the most important thing in her life, after Henry, and she was grateful for it. It was enough. _It has to be enough._

For the remainder of his leave, Killian had visited them every day, spending hours playing with Henry and talking with Emma, getting to know them, going with them for walks and taking them to the zoo. He watched Henry when Emma had to go to work, sparing her the expense of the sitter, insisting each time that _No, Swan, I don’t have anything ‘better’ to do, truly. I’m quite happy to look after the lad_. She believed him. He’d formed a bond with Henry as strong as the one he’d formed with her. Mother and son had both cried three weeks later when his leave came to an end and he left to rejoin his ship.

 

Killian had cried too, though he would have died before he let her know that, would cheerfully die a million times before he let on how he had fallen in love with her under the harsh fluorescent lights of the emergency room waiting area. He knew all too well how foolish that sounded, to make such a declaration about a woman he’d known only a few hours. Of course he’d tried to talk himself out of it, tried to tell himself he was being ridiculous, that he hardly knew her. No one could fall in love that fast, not _really_. And yet he had, and despite his most diligent efforts his feelings would not be denied. For three weeks he’d kept going back to her, looking for something, anything to douse his absurd ardor, some annoying habit or abhorrent opinion, but to no avail. After those three weeks spent with her and Henry, getting to know them under the auspices of a friendship that did not even come close to being enough for him but was still far more than he could reasonably expect from a single mother he had just met, Killian had finally faced the truth.

The truth was that he’d been lost from the moment she’d kissed him, her lips hot and demanding under his, her hands fisted in his coat, the taste on her tongue intoxicating. That kiss had knocked him sideways, sending his world careering off its axis and obliterating everything he’d thought he knew, then crushed him when he realised she’d never meant it to be more than a one-night stand, a one-time thing. The memory of it had twisted his heart to the breaking point when he came to understand that she sought nothing more from him than friendship, taunting him with everything he’d ever wanted held just beyond his reach. Over the years he’d tried his best to move past it, to get over her. He had dated other women, had slept with them, had forced himself not to pine for what he couldn’t have. But the truth was that he’d loved Emma so deeply and for so long that he couldn’t remember what it felt like not to love her, couldn’t imagine himself without that constant, low-level yearning that rose to a fever pitch during those too-rare times when he was with her again.

Now, sitting in her car, Henry dozing in the back seat finally worn out by his excitement, he took advantage of the quiet moment to watch her out of the corner of his eye. She looked tired, he thought, though with a demanding career and an energetic young son that was hardly surprising. It did nothing to detract from her beauty.

She was _so bloody beautiful_ , he marvelled, for what must have been the millionth time. It hit him like a fist to the gut every time he saw her, and he had to consciously restrain himself from grabbing her and pulling her close, kissing her as she had once kissed him, blurting out his feelings and begging her to be his. Killian cringed a bit at this last thought. He liked to think he was as much of a feminist as any man could be —he respected women, supported their right to autonomy over their bodies, to equal pay and equal rights, and to freedom from objectification and harassment— and the primitive, caveman-like possessiveness of his feelings for Emma disturbed him. He wanted all of her, completely, with a desire so fierce it terrified him, and he lived in dread of the inevitable day when she fell in love with another man and finally shattered his heart beyond repair.

Thank goodness that today didn’t seem to be that day. Emma turned briefly to smile at him, a warm, affectionate smile that caused his heart to clench painfully in his chest.

“So, _Captain_ ,” she teased. “How’s life in the higher echelons of the Royal Navy?”

He returned her smile, knowing that his cheeks and ears were turning red and helpless to prevent them. His promotion was only a few months old and his pride and delight in it were still very fresh.

“It’s taken some adjusting, but I’m getting into the swing of it,” he replied. “It’s quite a bit more administrative than I had anticipated, but nothing I can’t handle.”

“I’m sure you can handle anything,” she murmured, almost too quietly for him to hear, then more loudly “I bought you a cake, to celebrate.”

“Swan, you—”

“I know, I didn’t have to, I shouldn’t have, et cetera et cetera,” she said, keeping her hands on the steering wheel but waving her fingers in a dismissive manner. “I wanted to. I’m really proud of you, and I’m willing to bet that you didn’t celebrate properly by yourself.”

He hadn’t. Just a quiet drink with some friends from his Naval Academy days. She knew him too well.

“It’s that chocolate raspberry torte thing from that bakery we went to the last time you were here,” Emma continued. “I think we may have to wait to eat it until Henry’s gone to bed, it’s a bit too rich for him.”

Killian’s mouth watered, less from the prospect of a gooey dessert and more from the prospect of enjoying that gooey dessert alone with Emma. In those small moments when they were alone together in the house he regularly tried and failed not to think of as _theirs_ , sharing a meal or a film or just talking about their lives, in those moments he could allow himself ever so briefly to pretend that they were really _together_ , that she loved him back, and that after the food was eaten or the movie finished he could take her to bed and spend the rest of the evening showing her just how much he treasured her.

Because he was a fucking masochist, who loved to torture himself.

He smiled at Emma, pleased that she would take the trouble to do something nice for him, even though he knew that such little thoughtful things were characteristic of her. “That sounds delightful, love, thank you,” he said, and she flushed faintly under his gaze.

 

They pulled into Emma’s driveway a few minutes later. Henry woke up a bit grumpy, and insisted on Killian carrying him inside, pushing Emma away when she went to unbuckle his car seat. Emma reminded herself not to be upset; Henry always clung to Killian during the first few days of his visits, and she could certainly understand _that_ inclination. Henry wanted reassurance that Killian —the only man who had ever been a constant in his life— was still there. He was also the only man who had ever been a constant in Emma’s life, sticking around far longer than Henry’s own freaking father had, and she often wished she could curl up against his chest as her son so naturally did and feel his arms tight around her. Once again she found herself wishing for some of Henry’s freedom.

Killian took Henry inside and got him a glass of juice, which perked him up enough that Killian was able to distract him with his globe and with stories of China and Southeast Asia while Emma made dinner. The globe had been a present from Killian for Henry’s fifth birthday, and the boy loved it. He was able to find dozens of countries on it, and knew all the places Killian had been.

Her two boys shared a thirst for travel and adventure, Emma reflected, before giving herself a mental slap and a stern reminder that Killian was _not hers_. Nor was he a boy, that was for damn sure.

An hour later when they sat down to eat, Henry ignored his chicken bites —his favourite meal— for fully ten minutes while he apprised Emma of everything Killian had been up to since they’d last seen him.

“Kid, are you ever going to stop talking long enough to eat?”

“Sorry, Mom,” Henry shoved a piece of chicken into his mouth. “But Killian said that—”

“Henry! Chew your food and swallow it _before_ you talk!”

Henry looked mutinous, but he chewed and swallowed and then opened his mouth to start chattering again when Killian cut in.

“You’d best eat up, lad, we have a busy day tomorrow, and there’ll be plenty of time then to tell your mum what we talked about. Meanwhile, your poor chicken’s getting cold.”

Henry ate the rest of his meal in relative silence.

Emma tried not to pout.

“It’s just because he sees me so rarely,” said Killian as they cleared the table, reading her mind as he always did. “I’m a novelty. I’d wager if I were around more often he wouldn’t listen to me any more or less than he does to you, love.”

Emma sighed. “I know that, and I really don’t mind that he listens to you, I love that you two are so close. It’s just that it’s hard to share him, even with someone I— someone who cares about him the way you do.”

“Aye, I get that. I felt the same way about Liam’s first girlfriend.” His eyes widened when he realised what he’d said. “I mean, not that it’s the same, not that we’re—”

“Yeah, I know,” she said, amused at the appearance of his second blush of the day. “I know what you meant.”

At Henry’s insistence, Killian supervised his bath and then read him a bedtime story. Emma took advantage of the opportunity to clean up the kitchen and pick up the toys that always seemed to be scattered around the house. Despite what she’d said earlier, it was really nice having Killian around to take up some of the burden of parenting. Too nice. The kind of nice she could really get used to, if she allowed herself.

“He’s ready for you, love,” said Killian, coming out of Henry’s room and picking up his duffel from where he’d left it in the hall. “I’m going to wash up and get changed.”

“Okay,” _Do not think about him wet and naked, damn it,_ “I’ll see you in a bit.”

She went into Henry’s room to tuck him in.

“Mo-om,” said Henry, in the wheedling voice he used when he wanted something.

“Yeah, kid?”

“My dad’s gone, right? He isn’t coming back.”

Emma wondered where _this_ could be going. “No, he’s not coming back.”

“So I don’t have a dad.”

“You have a dad, Henry, he’s just not here. But he’s still alive, I think, so you do have one.”

“Yeah, but if he’s never going to be around then I _don’t_ have a dad, not really.”

“Um, well, I suppose not,” said Emma, somewhat unsure of what Henry wanted to hear.

“So can Killian be my dad?”

 _Yep, I should have seen that coming_. “Do you…” _Don’t ask, Emma, seriously, don’t,_ “Do you want him to be?”

“Yeah. Sometimes I pretend he is.”

 _Well, shit._ “Henry, Killian has his own life. Maybe someday he’ll have his own kids.” The thought made her want to hit something.

“But he loves us, Mom, I know he does!”

Emma’s heart began to pound. “Did he—” she cleared her suddenly constricted throat. “Did he say that?”

“No, but I know he does!” Henry’s voice rose, threatening tears. “I know it!”

“Oh, sweetheart, of course he loves you,” Emma soothed, trying to head off the tantrum.

Henry allowed himself to be placated. “He loves you too, Mom!” he said, eyes wide with five-year-old earnestness, and Emma suddenly wanted to cry.

“Honey, things like love are different for grownups. Killian and I are friends and he cares about me, but it’s not the same as how he cares about you.” _Please, please don’t ask me any more questions about this, kid._

Henry flopped back on his pillows and stifled a yawn. “Grownups are weird.”

“That’s definitely true, kid. Now please go to sleep, we’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”

He nodded, his eyes already drifting closed. “Okay. ‘Night Mom.”

She brushed his hair back and kissed his forehead. “‘Night, sweetie.” 

Emma went from Henry’s room directly to her own, closing the door and resting her forehead against it. Killian was the only father figure Henry had ever known, it made sense that her son would think of him as his dad. She had tried to be prepared for it, had honestly tried to think of what she would say when he started asking questions, how she would explain the situation to him, but her own feelings for Killian were so tangled and confused that she simply didn’t have the wherewithal to deal with Henry’s too. At least Henry’s feelings were simple: He loved Killian and wanted him to be his dad. Emma suspected she wanted that too, but she also wanted much, much more, so much that she couldn’t bear to contemplate it. All she was able to deal with was the fact that she needed Killian in her life, and she doubted that the best way to keep him there would be to let him know that she couldn’t look at him without simultaneously wanting to snuggle him and jump his bones.

Pushing herself away from the door, she went over to her dresser and took out a clean sweatshirt and pajama shorts. _Later,_ she promised herself. _You can deal with all this later._

When she arrived back in the living room, Killian was waiting for her, dressed in plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt of the same shade of blue as his eyes, his hair still damp from his shower. He smiled at her, and her stupid heart fluttered again.

“Is Henry asleep?”

“Yeah, thank goodness. I thought he’d never shut up long enough to manage it, but we got there in the end.”

He chuckled, then raised his eyebrow at her. “So, Swan, where’s this celebratory cake you promised me?”

She brought the cake out, and he laughed again at the sight of the words “Congratulations, Captain” that she’d piped on it herself using red icing. Their sloppiness contrasted sharply with the professionally glossy chocolate glaze, but she was pleased that they were legible. She cut a slice and handed it to him. “I really am proud of you, Killian,” she said. “I know how hard you’ve worked for this.”

He took the plate from her, his eyes warm. “Thank you, Emma,” he said softly, and leaned in to press a kiss on her cheek.

She stifled a gasp, her head spinning at his nearness and the softness of his lips and how damn good he smelled. Her eyes drifted shut and she dug her fingernails into her palms to stop herself from running her hands up his chest and twining her arms around his neck and pulling him in for a _real_ kiss. He stepped back after mere seconds, but it was enough to rock her to her core. Her eyes were huge as they met his, their expression unguarded, and for a moment she thought she saw an answering flash of heat and lust in his gaze, but then he looked away and the moment was lost.

They ate their cake in the kitchen, chatting companionably.

“So is everything set for your brother’s wedding?” he asked.

“Yeah, we leave next Thursday and come back on Monday night. It’s usually about a three hour drive, so we shouldn’t be back too late.” She watched him carefully. “Are you sure you don’t mind coming with me—”

He gave her a look that was very carefully not exasperated. “Swan, we’ve been over this, of course I don’t mind. I like your brother and am looking forward to meeting his fiancée, —what’s her name again?”

“Mary Margaret. I don’t know her too well, and since she and David moved back to Storybrooke I feel like I never see them. But she seems nice. She teaches fifth grade at Storybrooke Elementary. Oh, and David’s the sheriff now, he took over the job almost a year ago. I don’t think I told you.”

“No, but he mentioned it,” said Killian offhandedly. 

She blinked in surprise. “You talk to my brother?”

“We text occasionally.” He grinned at her look of alarm. “Nothing about you Swan. Masculine one-upmanship, mostly. He’s a sheriff, I’m a captain, which version of football is better, that sort of thing. Now tell me about Storybrooke, When was the last time you were there?”

“Gosh, it must be three years now. I don’t have much reason to go back since Ruth died. David likes to come down here, and of course I work for Jefferson, and there aren’t really that many other people left that I have a burning desire to see again.”

“Though presumably a lot of these people will be at the wedding?”

“Yeah, probably.” She sounded disgruntled.

“Never mind, love, I’m sure they’ll all be suitably impressed by your success.”

“I don’t care about—”

“Of course you do, darling, it’s only natural.”

“Oh yeah? And how often do you see your high school friends?”

“Quite regularly, actually. Several of them are fellow Navy men, and the ones that aren’t I speak to often.”

“Well aren’t you well-adjusted,” she sneered.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. But I boarded with those chaps, they were my family during some very difficult years for all of us. That’s a bond you don’t break. Ever.” He looked grim for a moment, then grinned. “And yet I still want them to be impressed by my success. I made a very deliberate point of calling one or two of them when I got promoted.”

She laughed. “Okay, I admit I wouldn’t mind people in Storybrooke thinking I’m a huge success. But everything I have is tied to Jefferson, and we all knew he was going to make something of himself. No one could be that smart and that weird for nothing.”

“Jefferson may be ‘an eccentric billionaire genius’” —Emma rolled her eyes; part of her job was ensuring that any reference to Jefferson in the media used that exact expression to describe him— “but if it weren’t for you, he’d just be an eccentric genius. You’re the one who makes him marketable, who translates his ideas into something people want to buy. Don’t sell yourself short, love. Jefferson owes you a great deal.”

“Damn straight he does, and he pays handsomely for me.” She thought with satisfaction of her healthy bank account. Having a comfortable income was not something she’d ever imagined for herself in the difficult years before David’s mother Ruth adopted her. She owed Jefferson a lot as well.

They discussed a few more details of their upcoming trip to Storybrooke and of the activities they had planned for Henry the following day, and before they knew it, it was past midnight and time for bed. Together, they rinsed their cake plates and loaded them in the dishwasher. Emma bit the inside of her cheek as she always did to stop herself from saying something stupid, like _come to bed with me and let me ride you like a stallion._

Killian ran a hand through his hair, and offered her a small smile. “Well, I guess I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow, then. Good night, love.”

“‘Night, Killian.”

 

They both went off to sleep in their respective rooms and dream about each other.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it looks like this fic is going to be hitting all the tropes with a sledgehammer. You've been warned :)
> 
> Also, if there's anyone with fan art skills who would be interested in making some for this story, I'd be very grateful. I'm complete rubbish at that sort of thing myself. Send me a message on Tumblr @profdanglaisstuff

They had been on the road to Storybrooke for well over an hour before Henry finally settled down and dozed off in the back seat. The last time Emma had visited her hometown he had been just a baby, and although he knew his uncle David and aunt-to-be Mary Margaret well, the idea of going to what was basically a new place and meeting loads of new people made him both excited and nervous. Emma had been as patient as she could, understanding the effect that particular blend of emotions could have, but his constant barrage of questions and attention-seeking mischief had been extremely trying, especially while she was trying to get them packed and on the road at a decent hour, and she couldn’t help feeling relieved when Henry finally slept and the car was quiet. She glanced over at the passenger seat, where Killian was sitting, watching the scenery go by. As usual he’d been a huge help keeping Henry occupied and out of her hair while she took care of the packing and tidying the house, making sure he was clean and dressed and didn’t forget his favourite stuffed toy, a floppy-eared dog named Joe. What would it be like to have him around all the time, she wondered for the billionth time, and for the billionth time she stomped down that thought and buried its shattered remains deep in her subconscious. 

His phone buzzed and he removed it from his pocket, frowning slightly at it as he rejected the call, though not before Emma caught a glimpse of the caller’s name. Milah.

_Who the hell is Milah?_

His phone buzzed again immediately and his frown deepened as he rejected the call a second time and switched the phone off.

“You can answer it, I don’t mind,” she said, trying to sound casual.

“No, it’s fine, it’s not anyone I wish to speak to.”

She hesitated, burning with curiosity but not wishing to pry. They never discussed their private lives, how they lived or who they saw when they weren’t together. Emma supposed she knew intellectually that Killian must date —he was far too attractive not to— but she had never before been confronted with such stark evidence of it, and emotionally she was not prepared.

“Who’s Milah?” she heard herself asking, and he looked at her sharply. “I saw the name on your phone. Is she— is she your girlfriend?”

He sighed. “Not anymore. I ended it about a month ago. She’s having a hard time accepting that.”

Emma nodded, ignoring the twinge of pain she had no right to feel that stabbed her just below her heart at this confirmation of his involvement with another woman, willing herself not to push any further. “Why?” _Damn it, shut up!_ “I mean, why did you end it?”

“She wanted more than I was able to give.” Killian’s gut twisted at the memory, still fresh and painful, of Milah’s face when he’d broken things off with her. He’d felt terrible doing it, knowing that from her perspective it was coming out of nowhere, but he also knew that allowing their relationship to continue when she had clearly fallen for him would in the long run be far worse. He’d tried so hard with Milah, harder than he’d tried with any woman since he’d met Emma, and he had truly wanted to make things work with her. The affection and attraction he’d felt for her had been genuine, and if he could have made those feelings deeper through sheer force of will then they would both be madly in love right now, but ultimately he’d had to accept that his efforts were futile. Emma’s hold on his heart was absolute, and unless he could find some way to break free of it he could never get serious with another woman. It simply wouldn’t be fair. He knew all too well the misery of unrequited love, and he wouldn’t inflict that on Milah or anyone else, couldn’t string her along knowing he could never be what she needed, what she deserved.

He looked so sad, thought Emma, this Milah must have been important to him. The twinge of pain became more intense. She wondered what had gone wrong, and clenched her jaw firmly shut to stop herself from asking any more prying questions. It was none of her business, and she needed to remember that. Killian had a right to his own life and his privacy, and she reminded herself that maintaining their unspoken boundaries benefitted her as well. She definitely didn’t need Killian knowing what she had been up to these past five years. Or rather, what she hadn’t been up to.

Unable to bear the look on his face any longer, she attempted a change of subject. “So, Henry’s starting school in the fall. I can hardly bring myself to believe it.”

He smiled, a bright, genuine smile full of affection for her son, and she felt the tension in her jaw and shoulders drain away. “Aye, me neither. He gets so much bigger every time I see him, but part of me still expects him to be that tiny baby I first met.” He turned to look at Henry in the back seat, fast asleep, his head lolling forward in a way that had to be uncomfortable. “I wish—” He bit the words off, barely catching himself before saying something he didn’t dare speak aloud, and shot an anxious glance at Emma, relieved when she didn’t seem inclined to press him about what exactly he wished.

“The school is only a few blocks away so I’ll be able to walk him there before work, then he can go to Anya’s in the afternoon,” she continued, as though he hadn't spoken. Anya was Henry’s babysitter, the same one who had taken him to the hospital the night Emma and Killian had met. “It’ll be a good arrangement. I just hope he likes school.”

“I’m sure he will, Swan, he’s a bright, friendly lad. He’ll get on splendidly.”

She grinned at his word choice. “ _Splendidly_ ,” she repeated teasingly, in a bad imitation of his accent, and he shot her a comically exasperated look, which made her laugh. After a moment he joined her, the rich sound of it suffusing her insides with a warm, tingly sensation. _This_ was what she needed to hold on to, she thought, this warm, supportive friendship with its ease of communication and laughter, his reliable if intermittent presence in her and Henry’s lives. As long as she had _this_ then Milah or whomever else could have his body, and she didn’t —she _wouldn’t_ — envy them. What she had was far more valuable, more permanent. He could break up with a girlfriend, but a friend was forever, and more than anything else she needed him to be forever. 

 

They arrived in Storybrooke at just past nine, pulling up to the large Victorian house that had been in David’s family for over a hundred years and where Emma had lived happily between the ages of 13 and 18. Returning to it now made her a bit sad. The house wasn’t the same without Ruth.

Mary Margaret met them at the door with eager enthusiasm, which she toned down slightly at the sight of Henry’s sleepy face as he snuggled in Emma’s arms. “I’d really like to get him to bed now,” said Emma quietly, “If he wakes up fully it’ll take ages to get him down again.”

Mary Margaret nodded. “I’ve made up a bed for him in the den,” she said, “That’s where all the kids are sleeping. Follow me.”

Killian kissed Henry’s forehead. “I’ll get the bags, love,” he said. She handed him the car keys and he went back outside.

Emma followed Mary Margaret down the hallway, carrying Henry. “There are five kids between the ages of four and eight here this weekend,” Mary Margaret whispered. “All of them are sleeping in here. The whole house is packed with guests, we want to spare as many people as possible from having to fight over the limited accommodation in town. It’s basically Granny’s or nowhere, as you know. The ones that aren’t here are in my loft. You and Killian are in your old room, of course.”

Emma nearly stumbled, and Henry made a small sound of protest. She smoothed his hair to soothe him and tried not to raise her voice as she turned on Mary Margaret. “What do you mean _me and Killian?_ ”

Mary Margaret looked confused. “Well, I thought you’d want your old room—” she began, and Emma could see that something, somewhere, had been seriously fucked up.

“Never mind,” she interrupted, “Let me get Henry to bed and then we’ll talk.”

“Okay,” said Mary Margaret, clearly still confused.

Emma tried not to seethe as she took Henry into the den, got him into his pyjamas and into bed.

“Are we there, Mom?” he murmured sleepily.

“Yeah, kid, we’re at Uncle David’s house. You’re going to sleep here in this room with the other kids, but I’ll be right upstairs if you get scared, okay?”

“I won’t get scared,” mumbled Henry, and she smiled. Her brave boy. 

“Okay, well sleep tight then, we need to be up bright and early tomorrow.”

“‘Kay, mom. ‘Night.”

“Goodnight, honey.” She kissed his forehead, noting that he was already fast asleep again.

She returned to the hall where Mary Margaret was standing wearing an anxious expression, and grabbed the other woman’s arm, pulling her away from the room full of sleeping children.

“Emma, is there a problem?” asked Mary Margaret.

“Yeah, you could say that.” She couldn’t stop her voice from rising. “Why would you put Killian and me in the same room?”

Mary Margaret shook her head. “I’m sorry, I’m really confused. Why wouldn’t you be in the same room?”

Emma stared. “Because… we’re not together?” she replied. Surely David had made that clear. Mary Margaret looked astonished, then devastated.

“You’re not?” she almost cried.

“No. Didn’t David tell you?”

“We never talked about it. I never asked him. I just, I mean with everything, I— I always just assumed you two were a couple.”

“ _Why_ would you assume that?”

“Well, I mean, from the way you talk about him, the way you two are…”

“What the hell does that mean?” shouted Emma.

“Look, don’t jump down my throat, it’s just… well, Emma, he lives at your place when he’s on leave, and you’re never available to do anything with us when he’s there. You remember last year when David and I made our first trip back to Boston after moving to Storybrooke, we had plans set for the whole week then you just blew us off because Killian managed to get a week’s leave and you wanted to spend the time with him. Then the year before that the three of us were at dinner and you ran out on David and me because Killian called you, and spent the whole meal sitting outside the restaurant on the phone with him.”

“He was calling from the South China Sea!”

“I know, but that’s sort of my point. All you do is work and spend time with Henry and Killian. You arrange to take all your vacation time for when he’s visiting so you don’t have any left for an actual vacation, and when he calls you drop everything to talk to him. I think I can be forgiven for believing he’s your boyfriend.”

Emma was silent for a minute, knowing Mary Margaret had a point but unwilling to concede it. “Well, he’s not,” she said stubbornly.

“I’m sorry,” said Mary Margaret, and Emma wasn’t sure whether she was apologising for her mistake or because Killian wasn’t Emma’s boyfriend. “There aren’t any free rooms left in the house, but I can see if someone would be willing to swap with you—”

“No, it’s fine,” interrupted Emma, making a quick decision. She didn’t want to call attention to her and Killian’s situation by making a big deal about the sleeping arrangements. “Killian and I have been friends for years, we can share a room for a few days. Sorry I shouted, Mary Margaret, it’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it anymore.”

The other woman looked relieved, and smiled. Emma tried to smile back, though the butterflies that were currently waltzing around her insides made that difficult.

They returned to the foyer, where Killian was chatting with David. Emma caught his eye and indicated he should follow her, which he did, picking up their bags and promising David to continue their conversation over a beer in half an hour. She led him up the stairs and opened the door to her old room. She’d decided it would be best to just come out with it, like ripping off a band-aid. “This is us,” she said.

“ _Us?_ ”

“Yeah." She took a deep breath and let the words come out of her in a rush. "Apparently there was some sort of mix-up and Mary Margaret got the idea that we’re a couple and would want to share a room. There’s no empty rooms and I didn’t want to make a stink on her wedding weekend, so I just went with it. I hope you don’t mind.” She glanced up at him, anxious for his reaction.

He looked utterly panicked for a moment, then she could almost see the naval officer take over as he carefully schooled his features. “Of course not, love, I’ll just sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Emma’s heart was pounding so loudly she thought surely he must hear it, and she willed her voice not to shake. “We can share the bed.”

They both looked at the twin bed standing innocuously against the far wall; it seemed somehow much narrower than Emma remembered. “Are you certain?” Killian asked, sounding very uncertain himself. “I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Of course I’m certain. We’ve been friends for years, it’ll be fine. I don’t want you to sleep on the hard floor for four nights.”

Killian thought wildly that even the hardest floor, or one adorned with hot coals or rusty nails would be far more comfortable than a tiny bed full of Emma Swan, with her sweet scent and her soft hair — _gods_ her hair, he could still feel the way it had slid silkily through his fingers during their one kiss— right there within his reach for eight long hours each night, where he would have to be constantly vigilant to avoid accidentally touching her, even more to avoid _intentionally_ touching her; the tiniest slip of his control would be fatal. She couldn’t actually expect him to _sleep_ under such conditions. He considered trying to dissuade her, but the mulish look on her face was one he knew all too well. She wasn’t going to give in.

“It’s a bloody good job I packed my nightclothes,” he said without thinking.

She looked confused for a moment. “Why wouldn’t you— _oh!_ ” Her eyes widened as she caught his meaning, and then they flickered down his body, pausing a moment too long just below his belt. He knew he had gone bright red and he cursed once again his easy blush, the absolute bane of his existence.

She was blushing also, a lovely shade of rose pink that made her eyes bright against her cheeks and her lips look so soft that his ever-present desire to kiss her sharpened into something almost painful.

_Gods, this is going to be hell_

“But… you always wear pyjamas at home,” she said, her flush deepening.

“I take them off to sleep.” His voice was gruff. “I don’t like constriction.”

She nodded, saying nothing, but her eyes darted to his crotch again and he had to bite back a groan. _Please stop looking there, love, or soon there’ll be something for you to see_

He cleared his throat. “But as you say, Swan, it’s only for a few days. I’m sure I’ll manage.”

“Yeah,” she said firmly. "We'll manage." 

He swallowed hard, and attempted a tone of easy cheer that he definitely did not feel. “Listen, I’m going to go have that beer with Dave so take as much time as you need, I’ll probably be a couple of hours. He’s being even wronger than he normally is this evening, I imagine it’ll take some time to set him straight.”

She smiled at his attempt at humour. “Okay, well, goodnight, I guess.”

“Goodnight, love.” He smiled at her and left.

Emma sank onto the bed with a shaky sigh. Her butterflies had graduated from the waltz to the tango, and she doubted she’d be able to sleep. _What_ had possessed her to refuse Killian’s offer to sleep on the floor? Now she would have to spend four nights lying inches away from him, knowing that if he were alone he would be naked— shit, that meant that he slept naked _in her house_ , in the room that was right across from hers. What the _fuck_ was she supposed to do with that information? She’d always been so careful not to imagine him asleep over there, so tantalisingly close to her own bed, and now he would be right fucking next to her and she could _not_ get the image of him snuggled under her blankets with _no constriction_ out of her freaking head.

“Damn, damn, damn, shit, and _fucking_ fuck,” she said.

 

Killian remained downstairs until well after midnight, after even David had gone to bed, wanting to give Emma enough time to fall deeply asleep before he returned. He opened the door as quietly as he could, and was relieved to see her curled under the blankets breathing slowly and steadily. Moving stealthily, he gathered his wash bag and pyjamas and went down the hall to the bathroom to brush his teeth and change. Ablutions completed, he braced his hands on the sink and glared at his reflection in the mirror.

“Keep it together, mate,” he told himself firmly. “You’ve been in trickier situations than this. Just remember your bloody honour.”

Back in the bedroom he hesitated for a long moment before slowly lifting the edge of the blanket and sliding beneath it, positioning himself as far over on his side as he could manage, watching Emma carefully. She didn’t stir and he slowly relaxed, focusing on keeping his breathing deep and steady, until he drifted off. Beside him, Emma shifted restlessly, rolling across the bed and snuggling into the hard chest she found on the other side, unconsciously seeking contact with the man she refused to acknowledge that she loved. Killian sighed in contentment as his hand stroked up her back, pulling her close. Wrapped around each other, they fell into a deep, restful sleep. 

 

When Killian awoke early the next morning Emma was in his arms, her back pressed firmly against his front, her ass cradling the ridge of his erection, his face buried in her hair. For a moment he relaxed into the embrace, believing he was still asleep and dreaming, tightening his arms to pull her closer and breathing in the sunshine-and-coconuts scent of her hair. Then the sound of a toilet flushing in the bathroom down the hall brought reality crashing down onto him and he jerked away from her, practically falling out of the bed in his haste to extricate himself. _You bloody arse_ , he berated himself. _What were we_ just _saying about honour?_

Sending up a quick prayer of thanks that Emma was such a sound sleeper, he exchanged his pyjama pants for jeans and retreated downstairs to hunt up a cup of coffee and hopefully some peace from the insistent urge to crawl back into bed and spend the rest of the weekend wrapped tightly around her.

Emma remained still and silent for several minutes after he’d left, trying hard not to cry. She knew it was stupid to be hurt by his reaction to waking up as they had, that of course he wouldn’t want to be spooning his best friend a month after he’d split with his girlfriend, but it still felt terribly like rejection. She didn’t know how they’d ended up in that position but it had felt so _good_ , and she’d somehow let herself lie there for over half an hour, enjoying the warmth of his body and the strength of his arms around her, his breath ruffling her hair against her cheek, before he woke up and brought it all to a screeching halt.

 _This is good,_ she told herself scathingly, _you needed a reminder that he doesn’t want you that way._

She wondered again about Milah, what she looked like and what she’d said and done to attract Killian, before giving herself the second mental slap of the still very early morning and flinging herself out of bed. _That is_ none of your business _, idiot. Now go down there and make sure that things won’t be awkward with your best friend in the world._

When she got downstairs Killian and Henry were sitting in the kitchen eating cereal and discussing their plans for the day.

“Would you like to see the marina, lad? David tells me that they’ve a fine one here, with lots of big ships.”

“Big ships like yours?”

“Well, not quite, mine is a military ship, these will be merchant ships or private boats. But still fine seafaring vessels, worth a gander, eh?”

“Okay!”

“Now this afternoon and evening your mum and I will be occupied with wedding things, but Mary Margaret’s mother will be taking you and the other children out to see a farm and then for ice cream and a movie. How does that sound?”

“Will Roland be there?” 

“Roland is the lad you were talking to this morning?” Henry nodded. “Yes, I believe so.”

Henry thought for a minute. “I like Roland. Can he come to the marina with us?”

“We’ll have to ask his parents, but if they say yes then he certainly can.”

Emma stepped into the kitchen, and Henry spotted her. “Mom, Mom! We’re going to go look at big ships then I’m having ice cream on a farm and Roland can come too.”

“All pending your mother’s approval of course,” said Killian, watching Emma with anxious eyes. She smiled brightly at him, and he relaxed.

“That’s all fine with me,” she said. “Mary Margaret already asked about the farm and the movie, and I’m sure he’d love to go look at the ships. Will you be okay with him this morning? I have some bridesmaid stuff to do with Mary Margaret.”

“Of course, love.”

 

It turned out Roland’s father Robin had plans of his own for his son, so Henry and Killian went to the marina by themselves and spent an enjoyable hour or so looking at all the ships and trying to guess where they’d been. Afterwards, they went to Granny’s Diner where Emma had said she would meet them after she was finished with her bridesmaiding duties.

“Killian,” said Henry, in the wheedling tone he used when he wanted something.

“Yes, lad?”

“Why don’t you have any kids?”

“Er,” Killian was flummoxed. “Well, hmmm, I guess it’s because I haven’t convinced anyone to be their mother yet.”

“Are you looking for their mother?”

 _No. I found her years ago._ “Aye, I suppose I am.”

“So you want kids?”

Images sprang into Killian's mind, painfully alluring ones, ones he always ruthlessly suppressed even in his weakest moments: Emma, round with his child; himself standing behind her as she cradled a baby with her hair and his eyes, his arms about them both; Henry and Emma and himself and their baby, together as a family. He wanted all of that, so fiercely that the thought of it stole his breath, and it was a moment before he could respond to Henry’s question.

“Aye, I do. Very much.”

Henry’s big brown eyes observed him carefully. “Maybe I could be your kid.”

“Oh, Henry.” _How I wish you could be, lad._ “You already have a father.”

“But Mom says he’s never coming back.” Henry’s lower lip began to make itself prominent, and Killian could sense a pout coming on. “So I _don’t_ have a dad, and you don’t have a kid, and I really want you to be my dad.”

Killian wondered with almost detached curiosity what infernal deity he had angered to bring this day upon himself, and what he could possibly do to make amends and get it to bloody stop.

“Henry…”

“Please, Killian?” Henry’s eyes were huge and his lip was quivering.

Bloody Swans would be the death of him, Killian thought, racking his brain for what to say, how to put Henry off without hurting him.

The bell on the door jingled, and Emma appeared.

 _Thank fuck._

“I think it’s time for you to go to the farm, lad, we’ll talk about this another time, all right?”

Preferably after he’d dumped it in Emma’s lap for her to deal with.

Henry fixed him with a look that said “Don’t think for a second that I’m going to give up on this, buster.” Killian knew that look well, having seen it on Emma’s face more times than he cared to recall. He met it with the look he always gave its parent. _We’ll see about that, young Swan._


	3. Chapter 3

 

Henry and Roland stood in front of the farm’s goat pen, tentatively reaching their hands through the fence to pet the goats’ soft noses and feed them treats.

“I think I like goats,” said Henry.

“Me too,” said Roland. “I like their noses. But my dad says…”

Henry frowned, and stopped listening. He liked Roland, who was about his age and who knew a lot about animals and about dinosaurs and about how Captain America was the best Avenger —something that Henry required of all his friends— but he never shut up about his dad, and Henry was growing tired of hearing about the man. Roland should think about what it was like for people who didn’t have dads, he thought crossly, before he went around bragging about his. He considered saying that to Roland, but deep in his heart he was still hoping that Killian would agree to be his dad, even though both Killian and his mom hadn’t reacted to his inquiries the way he’d thought they would, and so he didn’t want to say anything to Roland until he was sure Killian was no longer an option.

Henry thought that his suggestion made perfect sense, and he didn’t understand why his mom and Killian couldn’t see it. He didn’t have a dad, Killian didn’t have a kid, he and Killian did stuff together the way his friends did with their dads, Killian took care of him when his mom couldn’t and taught him things that were important to know. As far as Henry was concerned the matter was settled, and it was just a question of calling Killian “Dad” instead of “Killian,” and then he could tell his friends that his dad was the captain of a big ship, and they wouldn’t look guilty or pitying when they talked about their dads in front of him. He decided to try this out.

“My dad’s the captain of a big ship,” he told Roland.

“Really?”

“Yeah. It goes everywhere in the world and he’s the boss of all of it.”

“That’s cool,” said Roland, clearly impressed, and Henry felt a bit guilty for lying. After all, it wasn’t Roland’s fault he had a dad and Henry didn’t.

“And my mom works for a famous inventor,” he added, wanting to tell the truth about something.

“I don’t have a mom,” said Roland, matter-of-factly.

Henry was flummoxed. “You don’t?”

“No. I did, but she died. I don’t really remember her.”

The pang of Henry’s guilt grew sharper, and he writhed a bit as he considered this. Roland didn’t remember his mom, and he, Henry, didn’t remember his real dad either. Maybe Roland _would_ understand.

“Actually, Killian’s not really my dad,” he confessed. “I just want him to be. But he is the captain of a big ship.”

“Is that why you want him to be your dad?”

“No. It’s because he takes care of me and he loves my mom, and that’s what dads are supposed to do, right?”

Roland nodded. “Yeah, I think so. That’s what my dad does. I mean, he takes care of me and he tells me stories about my mom.”

A question was burning inside Henry. He hoped it wouldn’t upset Roland, but he had to ask it. “Do you ever wish you had a mom? A live one, I mean?”

Roland nodded again. “Yeah, sometimes. When I’m sad or I don’t feel well or when my dad has to work a lot.”

Henry was almost certain now that Roland would get it. “Is there someone you want to be your mom?”

Roland thought for a while. “Maybe my dad’s boss,” he said finally. “Lots of people think she’s really mean, but she’s always nice to me and once when my dad was sick she came to our house and brought him soup. I think I’d like it if she was my mom. He paused, and Henry waited anxiously for him to continue. “Sometimes I pretend she is.”

Henry grinned. Roland definitely understood.

 

When Killian and Emma arrived at the Rabbit Hole that evening, both the bachelor and bachelorette parties were in full swing. Emma looked around, taking it all in. The Rabbit Hole had once been a mysterious, adults-only place in her mind, one that felt intriguing and exciting. Now, through the eyes of wider experience, it looked just like any other slightly dive-y bar. She felt oddly disappointed.

“Tell me again why both events are being held at the same venue?” Killian murmured in her ear, distracting her from her thoughts.

“Because David and Mary Margaret do everything together, they can’t help it. And there’s basically only one place in town for this sort of thing,” said Emma. She glanced over at him, her heart doing its familiar dance when her eyes met his bright blue ones. He was looking particularly good tonight, she thought; as gorgeous as he was in his uniform she preferred his off-duty look of black leather jacket and skinny jeans, his beard a bit less neatly trimmed, his hair a bit mussed. He looked slightly wild and slightly dangerous, and anyone who didn’t know would never guess he was a decorated naval officer. She loved that about him, the different facets of his personality that should have been incongruous but somehow meshed seamlessly into one fascinating, complex man. 

“Emma!” came a shriek from her left. “Holy shit, girl, is that you?”

She turned to greet the tall brunette who was charging towards her, finding herself swept into a hug before she could manage to deflect it. “Hi, Ruby.”

Ruby stepped back, holding Emma by the shoulders as she gave her an assessing once-over. “I feel like I haven’t seen you for ages! It must be years!”

“No more than three of them—”

“Really? It feels like so much longer! And who is this?” she transitioned smoothly, turning to Killian and letting her eyes caress him in a manner designed to throw a man off-balance.

“Ruby Lucas, this is my friend Killian Jones,” said Emma, a bit warily.

“Ohhh, yes, I’ve heard of him,” said Ruby, batting her lashes and holding out her hand. “ _Captain_ Jones, isn’t it?” she purred.

Killian was not so easily thrown off his game. His lips curled slowly into a devastating smile as he took Ruby’s hand and brushed a kiss across the backs of her fingers. Emma couldn’t help feeling a bit gratified when Ruby involuntarily caught her breath. “Just Killian will do,” he said, looking up at her through his long eyelashes, his deep voice caressing the words. Emma hid a grin. He had managed to turn Ruby’s tactics around on her, and it was oddly satisfying to see the bold brunette on the back foot for once.

Ruby blinked slowly, staring at Killian for a long minute before shaking her head to clear it then breaking into a grin of reluctant camaraderie and respect. “All right, then, _Killian_ ,” she said, twining her arm around Emma’s and pointing to the far corner of the room with her other hand. “I’m going to steal Emma away now, the boys are over there on that side of the bar.”

Emma looked over where Ruby indicated and her mouth fell open.

“Ruby, is that… is that Graham Humbert?”

“Oh, yeah, he moved back a year or so ago. He’s the park ranger for this area.” Ruby shot her a speculative look. “You had a thing for him in high school didn’t you? You ever get off with him?”

Emma was still staring, lost in memories. “No, though not for lack of trying. Unfortunately, he was more interested in trees then too.”

“Well he might not be anymore. Unless I’m very much mistaken, he is giving you the eye.” She tugged on Emma’s arm. "Let’s go say hello.”

Emma glanced at Killian who was standing very stiffly, his expression uncharacteristically blank. He didn’t meet her eyes. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies,” he said with a tight smile, and departed, disappearing into the crowd before she could protest.

“Come on, Emma, let’s go greet the hunky woodsman.” Ruby pulled her over towards where Graham was sitting but their progress was interrupted by Mary Margaret, already flushed with alcohol, the pink paper crown on her head slightly askew.

“No you don’t,” she said, “No men tonight. This is girls’ night, night for girls.”

“Oh c’mon, MM, it’s not a bachelorette party if _someone_ doesn’t get their rocks off.”

Mary Margaret scowled. “I said no! And anyway, Emma already has a man.”

Emma’s scowl matched her friend’s. “I don’t—” she began, but Ruby pounced.

“Ah, yes, the insanely hot and I must say impressively smooth Captain Jones. What _is_ your deal with him, Ems?”

“There’s no deal,” snapped Emma, pushing both women away and stomping towards the bar. If there was going to be interrogation on this subject, she needed to be a hell of a lot drunker to deal with it. She ordered three shots of whisky and quickly tossed them back, relishing the fiery burn that traced its way down her throat to her stomach, helping to dull the familiar ache that had bloomed in her chest at the suggestion of romance between her and Killian. By the time she’d slammed the third empty shot glass down on the bar, Mary Margaret and Ruby had flanked her again.

“C’mon, there must be a deal,” pressed Ruby. “You can’t _just_ be friends with a man like that, not _really_.”

The ache stabbed Emma again. _Why does everyone always say that?_ “Well, we _are_ just friends.”

“And you’ve never fucked him?”

Ruby still had zero concept of boundaries, thought Emma crossly. “No.”

“Don’t you want to?” Ruby’s voice was pure disbelief.

“I—” What a stupid question that was, thought Emma. Of _course_ she wanted to, had wanted to from the very moment she’d seen him from across a bar not that dissimilar to this one, had wanted to every moment of the five years that had passed since. It had certainly been her intention to end up in bed with him when she’d taken her alcohol-fuelled courage in hand and marched across that bar to lay a kiss on him. She wondered endlessly about what would have happened between them if Henry hadn’t gotten sick. Would she have been able to fuck him then walk away, as she had done easily with other men? Something told her that a single night in bed with Killian wouldn’t be anywhere near enough.

“I’d rather have him as a friend,” she said quietly, and Mary Margaret and Ruby’s eager faces fell as they recognised the resigned sincerity in her voice.

“I mean, couldn’t he be both?” Ruby ventured, sounding contrite. “Friend and lover?”

“No.”

“But why not—”

“Because I’d fuck things up, and then I’d lose him, and I _can’t_ lose him. Besides,” _he doesn’t want me_ “he’s dating someone else.” No point telling them he’d broken up with his girlfriend, for all she knew that could just be temporary, He’d looked awfully sad when he talked about it. Mary Margaret and Ruby looked like they were about to commiserate, and Emma hastened to change the subject, knowing she wouldn’t be able to handle their sympathy.

“But never mind that, I thought you said this was a party!” she said, forcing a smile and waving at the bartender for more drinks. “Girls’ night, remember! Come on, bride-to-be, let’s get you drunk— er, drunker.” She handed them each a shot. “To your wedding,” she said, holding up her glass.

“To my wedding!” cried Mary Margaret gleefully, and they all drank.

 

Half an hour later, Emma was feeling wonderful, just buzzed enough to be carefree without tipping over into out-of-control.

Her eyes wandered over to where Graham was sitting. She could still see why her teenage self had been into him, though if she was honest none of the old fascination remained. He was sort of Killian-lite, she thought. Similar height and build, similar dark-haired, light-eyed, beardy aesthetic, but he lacked Killian’s edge and charm and his simmering sex appeal. In another time and place, another Emma would certainly not have turned down a night with Graham, but here-and-now Emma had no desire to tear his clothes off and have him against the nearest flat surface, as she pretty much constantly wanted to do with Killian. She thought about Ruby’s question, and the alcohol coursing through her system somehow made it seem like not such a bad idea. Why _couldn’t_ Killian be a lover as well as a friend? People did that, right? Friends with benefits they called it. He was her friend, so why couldn’t she have some freaking benefits?

Of course, there was the small matter of him practically throwing her off of him this morning. She had to admit that that wasn’t promising. But he had also kissed her once, kissed her as she’d never been kissed before or since, with the same blazing heat and barely-contained passion she felt for him. Most of the time she refused to let herself think about that kiss, the single hottest experience of her life, but the memory was burned into her brain and she knew that even if she wanted to she’d never be able to forget it. If she let herself she could still could still hear his sharply drawn-in breath as she’d pulled his mouth down to hers, still feel the way his hand had tangled in her hair and their lips had clung together in the gentlest, sexiest way, both soft and firm, before he’d tilted his head, opened his mouth, and devoured her. Emma had lost herself in the heat and wetness and the way his tongue had curled around hers, tasting of rum and spice, making her head spin and her whole body flush as she’d moaned and pulled him closer. She still remembered his muscles flexing under her fingers as she’d clung to him, the iron strength of the arm he’d wrapped around her waist, holding her like he never intended to let go; remembered the intense connection that had sizzled between them, setting her nerve endings alight at every point of contact. She remembered the wrecked look on his face when they’d finally come up for air, the way he’d stared at her like he’d never seen a woman before, like she’d shaken him to his foundations. Sometimes she thought she’d give anything to see that look again, to feel that he wanted her as desperately as she wanted him.

“Fuck,” she groaned, squeezing her thighs together. She was _really_ wet. _This is why I never think about that damned kiss._

She scanned the room for Killian, not seeing him at first. Then the crowd shifted and there he was, sitting in a dark corner booth, deep in conversation with a gorgeous brunette. Emma’s heart gave a painful lurch as she watched him lean in close to say something to her, his mouth curving into a flirtatious smile. She replied, smiling back, and then they both threw back their heads and laughed. Emma realised with a jolt that she recognised the brunette. It was Belle, the town librarian. Typical, she thought. Killian loved to read, he and Belle would have a lot in common. A lot to talk about. A lot to laugh about, apparently, as they burst into laughter again and her gut twisted viciously at the sight.

_When are you going to get it through your thick skull that he doesn’t want you?_

But the kiss…

 _That was one time, and it was years ago. He hasn’t made a single move since. He’s never made a move on you, actually, don’t forget,_ you _kissed_ him _. Let it go._

Dragging her gaze from Killian and Belle, she looked back at Graham and found him watching her. He smiled. Killian-lite, she thought again. Maybe that would suffice; she had a Killian itch that needed scratching, if she couldn’t have the real thing then maybe the lite version would be enough. At least there’d be no danger of her falling in lo— _no, mind, don’t go there_. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Belle nearly doubling over with laughter as Killian grinned wickedly to punctuate whatever story he’d been telling her. Emma made up her mind. She flashed Graham a flirtatious look and stood, flipping her hair over her shoulder and sauntering over to him, missing the pained resignation that flashed across Killian’s face as he observed her out of the corner of his eye. 

 

An hour later she had tipped from carefree to out-of-control and was just rounding the corner to barely functional. Quickly tossing back the two latest entrants in a long line of shots, she draped herself over Graham’s shoulder, tracing her fingertip along his jawline, and blinked slowly as she tried to concentrate on what he was saying through the alcoholic haze that she thought might finally be strong enough to wipe the image of Killian and Belle from her mind.

“Emma, why don’t you just talk to _him_?” Graham was saying in a carefully patient voice.

“Hmmm? Who?”

“Killian.” Graham’s tone suggested he had repeated this suggestion multiple times.

“Talkabout wha’ with ‘im?” slurred Emma.

“Tell him how you feel, Emma.”

“How d’you know how I feel bou’ Killian?”

Graham sighed. “You’ve been talking about literally nothing else for the past hour.”

“Hmmmm?”

“Look, maybe I should get someone to take you home.” Graham signalled to the bartender and suddenly there was a glass of water in front of Emma. “Drink this,” he told her. 

“Mmmmm,” Emma looked down at the glass, trying to make it sit still long enough for her to pick it up. It refused, and when she looked up again Killian was there.

“Heyyyy!” she said, grabbing his arm and leaning her head against his shoulder.

“You all right, Swan?”

“Fine, ’m fine. Jus’ fine.”

Killian smiled, but there was something troubling behind his eyes, something she couldn’t put her finger on. “Fine indeed,” he said. “Are you ready to go home?”

“Home,” she giggled. “Take me home, Killian.” She stood up so abruptly that she stumbled on her high heels and fell backward. He caught her with an arm around her waist and she leaned into him, snuggling into his embrace and nuzzling her face into his shoulder.

Gently, he set her away from him, leaving only his hand on her arm to steady her. “All right, love, let’s go. There’s a taxi waiting.”

In the taxi she clung to him, her head on his shoulder, determinedly resisting his attempts to get her to sit on her own seat. She wanted to _cuddle_ , damn it, she thought, knowing that there was a reason why she couldn’t but unable to call it to mind. The ride was not a long one, and when they arrived at Mary Margaret and David’s house he held her away from him with a firm grip of his hand on her arm as he helped her inside and up the stairs to their room, and all Emma could think about was how strong he was, how calm and competent he was all the time, everywhere, and how she wanted to wrap herself around him and never let go, wanted also to see him driven wild, pushed beyond the limitations of his iron control.

He lowered her to a sitting position on the bed and knelt down to remove her shoes, then leaned in close and unzipped her dress. She took a deep breath, inhaling the heady aroma that surrounded him. _Fuck, he smells so good._ Smelling him was one of her secret indulgences, but this time she’d barely managed to catch a whiff before he was gone, retrieving her pyjamas and laying them on the bed next to her.

“You get changed, love, I’ll go get you a glass of water.”

_Why’s everyone want me to drink water?_

“No, wait,” she said, lurching to her feet and falling unsteadily towards him. He caught her, his hands on her hips, his eyes darting away as she tried to catch his gaze.

“What is it, Swan?” he asked, his voice rough.

“Don’t go yet,” she breathed, running one hand across his chest and reaching up with the other to caress his face. He swallowed hard, then a muscle in his jaw began to dance and she traced her fingertips over it, fascinated.

“I’m coming right back,” he ground out, but she just shook her head.

“Don’t go,” she pleaded.

“Emma…”

“Killian, I—” she hesitated, groping for the words, the alcohol making her long to tell him how she felt while at the same time robbing her of the ability to express it. “I—” Nope, no use, the words wouldn’t come. Frustrated, and overflowing with emotions that needed an outlet, she stood on her toes and kissed him.

The feel of her mouth on his, finally, after years of subsisting on only the memory of it, rocked Killian to his core and left him iron hard and desperate, the desire to say to hell with it all and just _take_ what she was offering almost a physical force in his gut. He had to fight his attraction to her _constantly_ , which was exhausting enough when their boundaries were clearly in place but here, with her pressing herself insistently against him, her lips soft and hot, her breasts against his chest and her arms twined around him, the narrow bed they would share for the night only inches away, it was all but impossible. For one brief, heartbreaking moment he allowed himself to be weak, to tangle his fingers in her silky hair and return her kiss, nudging her lips apart and taking her mouth as he’d so often dreamed of doing, deep and soft and wet, stroking her tongue with his as he held her close. Lost in the intoxicating pleasure of her, he allowed himself to pretend that the love of his life was in his arms because she wanted to be there, that she was kissing him because she loved him and not because another man had gotten her all keyed up then unceremoniously dumped her on her friend when he’d realised she was too drunk to fuck. The memory of Graham's sheepish expression when he'd asked Killian to take Emma home filled him with rage, rekindling his urge to pound his fists into the other man's face. At least the bastard hadn’t taken advantage of her inebriated state, Killian thought furiously.

 _What, you mean like_ you’re _taking advantage of it?_

Fair point, he conceded.

He slid his hand down her back and over her ass, pulling her hips tightly against his and pressing his aching erection into her softness, letting himself imagine just for a second how bloody good it would feel to bury it inside her, at the same time fisting his other hand in her hair and pouring five years’ worth of love and lust and longing into one last fierce kiss.

Then he let her go.

“Killian?” she whispered, confused, blinking dazed green eyes at him, reaching out to pull him back.

Killian cursed Graham Humbert with every foul invective he could call to mind, and after ten years in the navy he knew a fair few.

“Get changed, Emma,” he managed to say, his throat so tight he could barely force out the words. “I’ll go get you that water.” Deftly evading her reaching hands, he fled from the room. 

 

When he returned to the bedroom ten minutes later, having managed to regain some calm and wrangle his cock into submission, he found Emma curled up on the bed, sound asleep, still wearing her dress. Killian cursed again, not bothering to whisper, knowing that she was down for the count and unlikely to wake up before noon. He set the glass of water down and regarded her helplessly. He could let her sleep in her dress, but the prospect gave him an unpleasant twinge of conscience. She’d be a lot more comfortable in her nightclothes, and he hated to think of her in any discomfort.

Gathering the tattered remains of his self-control he gently slid her arms out of her dress, making sure to keep her breasts covered and resolutely ignoring her obvious lack of a bra. He picked up the tank top she liked to sleep in and slipped it over her head, pulling her arms through the holes and smoothing the shirt down her body, removing her dress as he went, his eyes darting away from the sight of her pebbled nipples poking up through the thin fabric of her tank. He was rock hard again, blood pounding in his ears and his fingers itching to touch her, and when he pulled her dress down her hips and saw the tiny scrap of lace that was all she wore as an undergarment, he nearly came. As quickly as his trembling hands would allow, he pulled her pyjama bottoms up over her legs and hips then tucked her under the blankets and sighed in relief when her gorgeous body was fully concealed.

He needed a very, very cold shower.

Retreating into the haven of the bathroom and locking the door behind him, and shed his clothes rapidly, glaring at his cock as it sprang free from his jeans. Cold water alone was not going to be enough, he knew, not when images of Emma’s long, slender legs, golden curls peeking out from under the tiny triangle of black lace between them, were burned into the backs of his eyelids. Stepping into the shower he grasped himself firmly, bracing his other hand against the wall and ducking his head under the icy spray. He hated jerking off to thoughts of her; it felt like a violation of her trust and of their friendship, but he’d never been pushed this close to the edge before and could think of no other way to achieve the relief he desperately needed. Pumping his cock roughly, almost angrily, he closed his eyes and surrendered to his fantasies. Emma’s gorgeous legs wrapped around his waist as he thrust into her, the tight, wet squeeze of her inner walls around him, her hair spread out on the pillows as she moaned his name and writhed beneath him, ecstasy breaking over her beautiful face as he made her come again and again.

It didn’t take long. He was more aroused than he’d ever been in his life and his release came so quickly it was almost embarrassing. He pumped himself dry, hoping that this perfunctory shower orgasm would keep his cock limp long enough for him to fall asleep, though he knew that with Emma lying beside him that hope was certainly a futile one. He dried himself quickly and returned to the bedroom, pulling his pyjamas on and sliding stealthily into the bed as he had the night before, again keeping as much space as possible between himself and Emma. Releasing his breath in a long sigh, he closed his eyes and willed sleep to come. He was ready for this day to be over.

But it was not to be. Barely had he begun to relax when Emma rolled over, drawn to him like iron to a magnet, and buried her face in his neck, her hand sliding under his t-shirt, fingertips caressing his skin. He turned to look at her but she was unquestionably asleep, her breathing deep and even, a slight smile on her face as she snuggled into him.

Killian gave up. There was only so much a man could be expected to endure in one twenty-four hour period, and he was pretty sure he’d surpassed the limit some time ago. He slid his arm under Emma, pulling her close, and brushed her hair back from her face as he pressed soft kisses onto her cheeks and forehead.

“I love you, Emma,” he whispered, stroking her face with reverent fingers. “I should put a stop to this, but I can't. I want it too much, and just for tonight I'm going to pretend it's real. I’d give anything for it to be real. Forgive me."

Turning his face into her hair and cuddling her close, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's gonna hurt, darlings.

 

Emma woke up the next morning with her head throbbing, her mouth dry and sour. Reflexively, she reached for Killian but he was wasn’t there, his pillow cold beneath her fingers. She wondered if he’d slept there at all. He could have gone home with Belle, could be with her right now, making her laugh again and then making her moan— _stop it, brain!_ She shook her head and then deeply regretted the action as her hangover shot a razor sharp spear of pain through her temples. Cautiously, she took stock of her situation. She was in her own bed in her own pyjamas, she didn’t feel like she’d… done anything with anyone. Had she? Burying her face in her pillow with a groan, she tried frantically to remember the night before. The last thing she recalled was trying to hit on Graham and failing spectacularly, unable to focus on the task at hand. Instead she was pretty sure she’d talked his ear off about Killian. Emma cringed hard at the memory.

She had tried so hard, she thought despondently, tried for years to find another man who could make her feel even a fraction of what she felt for Killian. Maybe it was time she admitted to herself that it was hopeless. Not even her high school crush, who up until last night she might have termed “the one who got away,” could hold a candle to Killian.

She was in love with him.

Emma sighed. She’d always known it, she supposed, but hadn’t wanted to admit it, hadn’t wanted to accept that she could fall so hard for someone who didn’t feel the same. The truth was she’d spent years pining for Killian, waiting for something in their relationship to shift, for him to suddenly see her as she saw him. Meanwhile, he’d been living his life, dating other women. Milah. Maybe Belle. But not her. Never her.

Normally she could compartmentalise the pain of his unintentional rejection, tamp it down and ignore it, console herself with the knowledge that Killian cared for her and for Henry, and that their friendship was important to him. Normally she could pretend that was enough. But lying here, hung over, her face inches from a pillow that still carried the glorious scent of him, she just couldn’t manage it. Tears began to leak from her eyes and soon her cheeks were drenched and she let herself wallow in despair. _Just for a minute,_ she thought, _then I’ll be strong again._

A minute later, she dragged herself from the bed andinto the bathroom to splash water on her face and brush her teeth before going downstairs, where she found Mary Margaret in the kitchen making a pot of coffee.

“You don’t look nearly hung over enough,” she grumbled.

“I didn’t put away nearly as much as you did,” Mary Margaret replied sympathetically. “How do you feel?”

Emma managed a half shrug. “I’ll live. Is there enough of that coffee for me?”

“Of course, sweetie.” Mary Margaret poured her a cup and dropped a couple of aspirin next to it. “My mom took Henry and the other kids out for a late breakfast, so you know,” she said.

“That’s really nice of her.” Emma swallowed the pills with a steaming mouthful of coffee.

“She enjoys it,” said Mary Margaret. “She’s already nagging me about grandchildren, and I’m not even married yet. Oh, and Killian said he’d take care of Henry this afternoon so you can focus on the rehearsal.”

Emma’s heart lurched at the mention of his name. “Where is Killian?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

“Um, I think he’s at the library. He said something about meeting Belle to look at some books they talked about yesterday.”

_Of freaking course,_ thought Emma, as memories of Killian and Belle laughing together the night before came flooding back once again with painful clarity now that her headache was beginning to recede, and she couldn’t control her wince.

Mary Margaret regarded her carefully. “Emma, I know you don’t want to talk about this, but it’s obvious you have feelings for Killian—”

“MM, please—”

“But listen, sweetie, I saw the way you were with Graham last night. I know you were really drunk but I just don’t want you to make a bad mistake. Killian looked heartbroken when he saw you.”

Emma doubted that. Mary Margaret was such a romantic, she wanted to believe everyone else was as in love as she was. “How many times do I have to tell you that Killian and I are just friends?”

“As many times as it takes until you can sound like you believe it.”

Emma gulped down her coffee and signalled for more. “I wish you wouldn’t worry about me, Mary Margaret, I really am fine. And Graham was just an itch that needed scratching. I had a real thing for him in high school, and it’s been a while since I got laid, that’s all.”

“How long is a while?” asked Mary Margaret, her gaze sharpening with interest.

Emma’s hungover brain was too slow to produce a lie. “Four years.”

Mary Margaret gaped, her eyes widening and mouth dropping open. “You haven’t had sex in _four years_?”

Emma bristled at her tone. “I’m busy! I have work and Henry, and—”

“And you know that’s not the reason, Emma.”

“Look, I tried, okay? I had a couple of one night stands, but it just— it felt wrong.”

“Because they weren’t Killian.”

Emma closed her eyes, not wanting to talk about it but at the same time _really_ wanting to talk about it. Something about Mary Margaret’s sympathetic, almost maternal expression coaxed the confession from her. “Yeah,” she whispered.

Mary Margaret stared at her and shook her head.

“What?”

“I just can’t believe you yelled at me for thinking you two were a couple.”

“Because we’re not—” Emma began to insist, but Mary Margaret cut her off.

“Of course you are. Think about it, Emma. He lives at your house, _you_ live for his phone calls and visits, you’re sexually faithful to him even though you guys _aren’t having sex_ , your kid thinks of him as his dad, I mean come on. You’re basically in a sexless marriage. What would actually change if you started sleeping with him, if you told him how you feel?”

“Everything would change! If we were in a relationship it would be too much pressure, too much opportunity for me to mess things up.”

“You said that last night. Why are you so certain you’d mess things up?”

“I did with Henry’s father.” The words were out before she could censor them. What _was_ it about Mary Margaret that made her spill her guts like this?

“No,” said Mary Margaret, shaking her head firmly. “David told me about that. From what he said it was not in any way your fault. The man was a jackass.”

Emma found it hard to argue with that. Neal was unquestionably a jackass. But that didn’t absolve her of responsibility in their breakup. “Maybe, but it was still my fault. I was too demanding, I wanted too much from him. It drove him away, and now my kid doesn’t have a father.”

“Do you really think that? That he left because of something you did?”

“Yes I do, because he did. I was too difficult and what I had to offer wasn’t enough for him.” She toyed with the decorative centrepiece on the kitchen island, Mary Margaret’s sympathetic expression drawing yet another confidence from deep within her. “I was so broken when he left,” she said in a low voice, “and in retrospect I barely even _liked_ him. He was just… an infatuation, an older guy. He seemed exciting, like an adventure. But that was me projecting, it wasn’t who he was as a person. I was in love with an illusion. But with Killian, what I feel for him is so much more— It’s so— I feel so— fuck, I don’t know how to explain it only that if I lost him I don’t think I could go on. I would do _anything_ not to lose him, Mary Margaret, even pretend that being friends with him is enough for me. Of course I want more, I want _everything_ with him, but the risk is too great. What if I can’t be enough for him? What if he leaves me too?” She shook her head, mouth twisting bitterly. “Not that it matters, anyway, he doesn’t want me, not the way I want him.”

Mary Margaret snorted with laughter, then stopped abruptly when she saw Emma’s hurt expression. “Oh, you were being serious.” Emma nodded with sarcastic exaggeration, and Mary Margaret looked confused. “Wait, why on earth do you think Killian doesn’t want you?”

“Um, because he clearly doesn’t? He’s never once even hinted that he sees me as anything more than a friend.”

“Hmmm, yes, but of course you haven’t either.”

“What?”

“I won’t pretend I know Killian well, but from what I’ve seen he mostly follows your lead. Is it possible that he thinks you only see him as a friend? That he doesn’t want to ruin your friendship by telling you how he feels?”

Emma considered this. “But— he dates, Mary Margaret, he just got out of a relationship. He’s obviously not pining away like I—, well he’s not gone without sex for four years, that’s for sure.”

“I couldn’t speak to that. But I can tell you one thing, Emma, and that is that whatever he may or may not say or do, Killian is very obviously in love with you. Oh, he tries to hide it but he just can’t. Every time he looks at you or even speaks your name, his heart is right there, on his sleeve, beating away just for you. Everyone can see it.” She rolled her eyes at Emma’s stubborn expression. “Listen to me carefully. Last night you basically dry humped Graham in the middle of the Rabbit Hole.” Emma winced, but Mary Margaret pressed on. “You were very clearly trying to get off with him, but also way too drunk for any decent guy to take advantage of, and so Graham asked Killian to take you home. Even though you’d been all over another man, Killian still was there for you when you needed him, still made sure you got home safely, and apparently got you into your jammies and into bed. He looked like he wanted to take Graham apart, but instead he took care of you.”

Emma’s heart leapt. “Killian took me home?”

“Yep, he did. Look, Emma, I understand that you were badly hurt by Henry’s father and you’re afraid to let yourself be vulnerable to another man. But remember that Killian is vulnerable to you too. That’s what love is, it’s… mutual vulnerability. You have to trust the other person not to hurt you, and from what I’ve seen of Killian he’s worth that trust. He loves you deeply and he’s still here after five years even though you’ve given him no hope of anything beyond friendship. I think you can rely on him not to run at the first sign of difficulty in a relationship. I get that you’re scared, honestly I do, but would it really be so terrible to be vulnerable to a handsome, intelligent, kind naval captain who loves your son and is crazy about you?”

Emma’s heart was thundering. Could it be possible that Mary Margaret was right? That Killian loved her the way she loved him? And how the hell could she find out without making things really weird between them if it turned out not to be true?

Quickly, she polished off her second cup of coffee. “I’m gonna go shower and, er, take a walk. What time do we need to be ready for the rehearsal dinner?”

“Mary Margaret gave her a knowing look. “We’ll start at four. But you should hurry, it’s past eleven and the library closes at one.”

“I’m not going—” Emma caught Mary Margaret’s eye and flushed slightly. “Thanks, Mary Margaret. For everything.”

Mary Margaret gave her a hug, and for once Emma didn’t stiffen up at the effusive display of affection. “That’s what sisters are for,” she said.

 

Emma showered and dressed in record time and hurried to the library, desperate to see Killian even though she had no idea what she’d say to him. How do you tell your best friend that you’ve been madly in love with him for years and want— what _did_ she want with Killian? _Everything_ , she’d told Mary Margaret, and that was true, but the details of the everything… of dating him, sleeping with him, marrying him, having children with him… were as terrifying as they were enticing. She’d never had a real adult relationship before, and wasn’t sure she knew how. Even if Killian loved her she could still mess things up, still drive him away.

And despite Mary Margaret’s assurances, she still wasn’t convinced that he did love her, or that he wanted the same things she did. Mary Margaret had seemed so certain, but she barely knew Killian and didn’t know Emma much better, what if MM was wrong? What if telling Killian how she felt just put him in an embarrassing position and ruined everything between them?

_Is this even a good idea?_

Emma was about a block away from the library when the doors opened and two people emerged. She was so caught up in her thoughts that it took her a moment to realise that it was Killian and Belle, talking animatedly, arms full of books. Before she could think, she’d darted behind a parked car and from behind her cover watched as Killian took two of Belle’s books and put them in his satchel, laughing as she tried to press more on him. He flung the satchel over his shoulder and took Belle’s free hand in his, squeezing it warmly as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. He smiled at her with a fond expression on his face and Emma felt all her hopes being dashed to pieces.

She watched as Killian waved goodbye to Belle and proceeded down the street, stopping in front of Granny’s to meet an enthusiastic Henry, who came racing out of the diner and into Killian’s arms. Emma watched as the man she loved kissed her son then set him on his feet and listened attentively as he began to chatter about his day. Hand in hand, they headed away from her, the two people Emma loved most in the world, and all she wanted was to run after them, to hug both of them together and walk with them as a family. She wanted to fling herself at Killian and confess everything, wanted so badly to trust that he _did_ return her feelings, that Mary Margaret was right and he was just waiting for her to lead the way.

But she couldn’t risk it. If Mary Margaret was wrong, then Emma would lose everything. Her best friend, Henry’s only father figure, the best part of her life aside from Henry himself. It was too much. Belle was a nice woman, reasoned Emma, she wouldn’t try to keep Killian away from Henry. Wouldn’t try to interfere in his friendship with Emma. They could continue as they had always been, as long as she could keep her feelings under control. Fighting back the tears that wanted to burst from her, she stood up from behind the car and began walking briskly in the opposite direction to Killian and Henry. She’d have to head back to the house soon, get ready for the rehearsal, and she _would_ , she just needed a bit of a walk first. Afterwards, she’d be fine. She’d be fine.

 

The wedding rehearsal went off without a hitch, and afterwards the wedding party returned to David and Mary Margaret’s house for a buffet dinner in their back yard. Emma went to check on Henry, who was happily and sleepily curled up in his bed in the den, watching a movie with the other kids.

“Killian already tucked me in, Mom,” he said, stifling a yawn, “But you could too if you wanted. I don’t mind being tucked in twice.”

Emma smiled, and did as he asked. “Did you have fun with Killian this afternoon?” she asked.

“Yeah. We went to the park. There’s a castle there! I stormed it and rescued Killian from pirates.”

“That was very brave of you.”

“That’s what he said! Then we had ice cream. I wish Killian could be here all the time, Mom.”

_Me too, kid_. Emma swallowed the words, not wanting to give Henry the false hope that had tormented her that afternoon. “Go to sleep, honey,” she said, kissing his forehead.

When she returned to the festivities in the back yard, she spotted Graham sitting alone at a small table. He sent her a hesitant smile which she gladly returned, hastening over to sit next to him.

“Hey,” she said, “Um, I hear I owe you an apology for last night.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said kindly. “We’ve all been there. It was pretty clear you were going through some stuff. Did you sort things out with Killian?”

Emma flushed. “How much did I tell you?” she asked.

“Oh, only everything. But I’d like to hear your sober thoughts on the subject. If you’d still like to talk that is.” His expression was gentle, his eyes kind. He was a lovely man, she thought, and _so_ not her type.

“Are you sure you don’t mind being my shoulder to cry on two nights running?” she askedteasingly.

“Actually, after last night I’m now unnaturally invested in your love life and am prepared to do whatever it takes to get you to your happy ending. So spill, Emma, I’m all ears.”

 

From the shadows on the other side of the yard, Killian watched as Emma and Graham sat with their heads together, deep in conversation. They made a handsome couple, thought Killian dispassionately. Emma’s elegant blonde beauty contrasted well with Graham’s rougher, outdoorsy look. He let his eyes caress her, drank her in, as much as he could bear, as much as he could get away with without obviously staring. He had no idea how many more chances he would have to look at her once she and Graham moved forward with their relationship. She was slightly flushed, her eyes bright as she gesticulated with her fork then laughed at Graham’s response, and as heartbreakingly beautiful as always. The blue dress she wore was less overtly sexy than the red one she’d worn to the bachelorette party, but still stunning, and her hair was twisted up in some complicated plaits that made his fingers itch to unravel them, to tangle in the silky strands as he kissed her. He would kiss her as he had the night before, he thought, and this time she would know it was _him_ , she would _remember_ … _no, damn it,_ _stop this now!_ The primitive urge to charge over there and tear her away from the other man, to carry her off and make love to her until she was capable of thinking about no one but him, to claim her as _his_ was almost overwhelming. His hand clenched around his glass as he fought it back. _She made her choice, mate, and it’s not you. She has the right to choose for herself. You have to accept it._

Belle thought he should tell Emma how he felt. Killian scoffed at the notion. Belle was a lovely woman and he liked her immensely, but she was a foolish romantic and she didn’t know Emma very well. Emma went for what she wanted, pursued it single-mindedly, the way she had with her career and with him the night they’d met. If she’d wanted more from him than friendship, she would have said so. He’d told Belle as much, but she’d been unmoved.

“You didn’t see the way she watched you last night,” Belle had said that afternoon as they’d looked through the library’s impressive collection of books on maritime history.

“I saw the way she watched Graham,” Killian had retorted, “And I saw the way she acted with him. He’s the one she wants.”

“But—”

“Belle, please. I know Emma. The surest way to ruin things with her would be to tell her how I feel, to force emotions on her when she doesn’t want them. It’s my burden to bear, not hers. I’ve carried it for five years and I can keep on indefinitely. She and Henry are worth it.”

But now, watching her and Graham together, feeling the growing certainty that they were in the early stages of forming a lasting attachment, he wasn’t sure he _could_ keep carrying his burden. His heart ached so fiercely that he wanted to rip it from his chest himself, wanted to crush it into dust just to stop it _feeling_ so damned much.

When Emma wrapped her arms around Graham’s neck and hugged him, Killian knew he’d reached his limit for that night. Downing the last of his drink, he somewhat stiffly made his excuses to David and Mary Margaret and headed upstairs.

 

Over Graham’s shoulder, Emma watched him go. She pulled back from the hug she’d impulsively given him, her expression troubled. 

“Go after him,” said Graham. “Tell him what you just told me.”

Emma shook her head. “I can’t. He doesn’t want to hear it.”

Graham stared. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What?”

“Of course he wants to hear it! He’s crazy in love with you, why wouldn’t he want to hear that you love him too?”

Emma felt her dashed hopes from the afternoon begin to repair themselves. “Do you really think he loves me?”

“Um, yeah, I do, because it’s obvious. I’ve barely exchanged three words with the guy and I can see it,” said Graham.

“But what about Belle?”

“Belle? The librarian?”

“Yeah, they were together last night.”

“They were talking last night, but it didn’t look like anything more than that to me.”

“And then this afternoon, he went to the library.”

“To get some books, maybe?”

“Well… yeah.”

“Isn’t that why most people go to libraries?”

“But he kissed her!”

“Did he?”

“Yes! I mean, on the cheek, but still…”

“Emma, these are obvious excuses. Killian and Belle only just met. Even if he were attracted to her, he’s hardly going to be serious about a woman he’s seen twice in twenty-four hours.”

“It took less time than that for us to bond.”

“Because he fell hard for you. Do you really think he’s spent the last five years focused entirely on you, supporting you and helping you raise your kid with no hope of sex just because you’re such good pals? No one does that, Emma, not unless there are serious feelings involved.”

Emma was torn with indecision. She wanted to believe Graham, wanted to believe Mary Margaret, but her doubts were equally strong.

“Just go talk to him,” said Graham. “If nothing else, he’s your best friend and he’s clearly troubled.”

“You’re right,” said Emma. Killian’s face when he’d left the party had worn that blank expression that he only got when he was hiding strong emotions. Something was wrong with him, and she intended to find out what. 

 

Killian went straight to bed, where he lay awake with his eyes wide open. Images of Emma laughing intimately with Graham were burned into the inside of his eyelids; every time he closed his eyes there they were taunting him, allowing him no peace. He feared he may never sleep again.

Tomorrow after the wedding he would leave, he thought. He could invent some emergency on his ship, take a train back to Boston and be gone before Emma returned. If she returned, for all he knew she would want to stay on for a few more days and explore her rekindled first love. Tears prickled behind his eyes and he resolutely blinked them back. He’d always known this day was coming, but now that it was finally here he felt blindsided by how badly it actually hurt. _You should never have got so involved in such a lopsided relationship_ , he berated himself, _knowing that it could only come to this, with you emerging as the loser by a wide margin_. Emma would be fine without him, he knew, she would miss him of course but she would have Graham and Henry and she would be fine. Without her, Killian would have nothing. No Emma, no Henry, ( _Gods, Henry. How will I ever explain this to him?_ ) no relaxing leave with them in Boston, no nothing. Emptiness stretched out before him, years and years and decades of it, and he could hold back the tears no longer. Turning his head into his pillow, he let them fall. He would be strong tomorrow, but tonight he needed to mourn.

The sound of the door opening surprised him. He’d been sure that Emma would remain downstairs with Graham for longer, if not for the entire night. Perhaps she had forgotten something? But no, she was changing into her pyjamas and crawling into the bed. Killian lay still, breathing deeply, hoping she would think him asleep. He could feel her eyes on him, knew his body was too stiff for realistic slumber, hoped she wouldn’t notice in the dark. He wished she’d stayed with Graham, he really needed to be alone tonight. The idea of sleeping next to her knowing she was dreaming of another man was unbearable.

“Killian?” she said softly, and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing her to turn away, to go to sleep, to leave him in peace.

_Please, Emma, if you care for me at all, just let me be._

“Killian, I know you’re awake.”

_Damn it._

“What do you want, Emma?” His voice came out harsher than he’d intended, and he could feel her recoil slightly.

“Can we talk?”

“About what?”

She laid a hand on his arm and he ground his teeth, his traitorous cock springing to life under her touch, even as he silently begged any god who would listen to make her take her hand away.

“Are you all right?” Her fingers flexed gently on his arm and he practically leapt from the bed, unable to stand any more.

“I’m fine,” he said, grabbing his jacket and boots. “I’m going for a walk.”

“But it’s past midnight!”

“Can’t sleep. Just need some fresh air. You go to sleep, love, don’t worry, a bit of exercise is all I need.” He forced himself to look at her, forced a smile to his face. The concern on hers nearly brought him to his knees.

_Please don’t look at me like that, I can’t bear it._

He turned away before he could make a fool of himself, before she could see him cry. He would not be the object of her pity. He left the room without another word.

 

Emma tried not to roll over and look at the clock. Instead, she waited, held her patience. Finally, she gave in. 3.23. Three minutes after the last time she’d looked.

Actually, three minutes was good. She was getting better at waiting.

Killian had been gone for nearly three hours, and her worry had become almost a living thing in her chest, twisting and fluttering and making her agitated and restless. Where the fuck _was_ he? There were only so many places to go in Storybrooke. Maybe she could find him, she thought, by process of elimination. At least that would be _doing_ something, rather than just lying here waiting helplessly. She flung off the blankets and swung her legs over the edge of the bed and then the door opened.

“Killian!”

“Swan,” he said, with the careful diction of the very drunk, “I thought you’d be asleep.”

“I was worried about you.”

“Well, don’t be. Told you, I’m fine.” He walked carefully across the room.

Emma had never seen him like this before. “Are you drunk?” she asked.

“Yes. Though not nearly enough. Went to that charming eshtab— establishment, the Rabbit Hole. Until they kicked me out. Something about ‘closing time.’” He waved his hand in the air. “Whatever that is.”

He kicked off his boots and dropped his jacket on the floor, then crawled into bed, perching as close to the edge of his side as he could go without falling off, and pulling the blankets up to his chin. Emma rolled back in herself and lay for a moment watching him. She’d seen him drink before, of course, they’d met in a freaking bar, but he had always been so careful, always stopped before he got too drunk, before he lost control of himself. Killian hated being out of control, ever since he was a teenager when he’d gotten blackout drunk and done something stupid, something that hurt his brother. He’d never told her the details, only that he’d sworn to never drink to excess again. And he hadn’t, until tonight. This was all so unlike him, she thought, and her earlier worry increased, clawing at her, refusing to allow her to rest until she found out what was wrong.

“Killian,” she began.

“Go to sleep, Swan.”

“I can’t. Not until I know you’re all right.”

“I’m fine. I’ve told you.”

“That’s obviously not true. Why won’t you talk to me?” She reached out again to touch his shoulder and he flinched so violently he almost fell off the bed.

“Bloody hell!” he nearly shouted. “Don’t—” He took a deep breath, then spoke more quietly. “Don’t touch me. Please.” His voice cracked on the last word, and Emma feared her heart might do the same. Why was he shutting her out? Graham must have been wrong, he must have fallen for Belle after all, and didn’t know how to tell her. She could think of no other reason why he would push her away. 

“Killian, I—” _I love you and the thought of you falling for someone else makes me want to die_ “I’m here, if you want to talk. About anything.”

She barely heard his small sigh, then his voice, slurred and half conscious, “I know, Swan.Gosleep now.”

“Good night, then,” she said, and waited for his reply, but he was already out.

Emma rolled away from him and curled into a tight ball, then cried herself to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for your patience waiting for this chapter! I was writing for Cocktoberfest for most of October, and also moving to a new house AND starting a new job, so it's been a bit of a stressful time. I hope you'll find it worth the wait!

The wedding was beautiful.

Mary Margaret was radiant, and David looked about to burst with pride. The expression on her brother’s face, like he’d found the love of his life, his home, made Emma want to cry.

But then, she’d been wanting to cry all day.

She glanced over to where Killian sat. He looked tired, but not too much the worse for wear after his uncharacteristic binge the night before. She’d woken up that morning with her head on his chest, his breath ruffling her hair, her own chest aching with the desire to snuggle deep into his arms and never leave.

Instead she’d slid carefully out of them, and gone to help Mary Margaret prepare for her wedding.

Killian caught her watching him, and offered her a small, apologetic smile. She smiled back and his widened into a grin, and for a moment she felt like it was just the two of them, sharing their happiness at the happiness of their friends, all the tension and underlying emotions forgotten.

Then the minister pronounced David and Mary Margaret husband and wife. The guests burst into applause and the moment was lost.

Emma watched her brother and sister-in-law walk up the aisle together, and when she looked back into the crowd Killian was gone.

 

On her way to the reception, Emma ran into Belle. “Just the person I wanted to see,” said the petite brunette with a friendly smile. “Would you mind doing me a favour?” She removed a book from her purse and held it out. “Killian and I were looking for this book yesterday, but couldn’t find it. I remembered where it was this morning, do you think you could give it to him?”

“Why can’t _you_ give it to him?” Emma asked, aware she sounded petulant but unable to keep the resentment from her voice.

Belle looked surprised. “Well, I don’t think I’ll see him before you guys leave tomorrow,” she said, like this was obvious.

“You won’t?”

“Well, no. I can’t be at the reception and I’m working on Monday, so…”

“Why won’t you be at the reception?”

Belle blushed slightly. “My boyfriend just got back from a business trip, and I— well, it was a long trip.”

“Your boyfriend? But I thought—.”

Belle gave her a knowing look. “You thought something was going on with me and Killian,” she said. “I told him he needed to talk to you about this, but he seems to think you don’t want to hear it.”

Emma’s breath was caught in her throat. “I don’t want to hear what?” she croaked.

Belle looked at her for a long time, seemingly trying to make up her mind. Finally, she sighed. “I’m sorry, Emma, but I can’t break his confidence. You need to talk to him. _Really_ talk. I can’t believe you two can be so close and still not talk about the most important things.”

“What things?”

Belle pressed the book into her hand. “Find him. Talk to him, before it’s too late. Before the misunderstandings become insurmountable and you lose each other.”

 

Killian wasn’t at the reception. Emma managed to corner David who could only say that he’d been there and offered his congratulations, but so had a lot of other people and it wasn’t his responsibility at his own damn wedding to keep an eye on a fully grown man. He muttered under his breath that if Emma wanted to know where Killian was, she only needed to sort her shit out with him and she’d never be rid of him again, but his sister didn’t hear. David shrugged. He and Mary Margaret had a wager on: if Emma and Killian hooked up that weekend, then he’d owe her twenty dollars. If it happened after they got back to Boston then she'd owe him. David had little doubt it would happen eventually. His sister was stubborn but she wasn’t stupid, and only an idiot could fail to see that she and Killian were crazy about each other. David smiled fondly at his sister’s retreating back, then returned his attention to his wife.

 

Emma finally found Killian in their room, where he was busily packing his duffel. His back was to her, but something about the way he stood spoke of sadness and defeat. 

“What are you doing?”

He froze for a moment then spun around, the smile on his face clearly fake. “Ah, Swan, there you are. I’m sorry, this must seem rather abrupt, but I have to go.”

“Go?” she asked,“Go where?”

He fixed his eyes on a point somewhere over her right shoulder. “Back to my ship.”

“But you’re on leave for another two weeks,” she pointed out, watching him through narrowed eyes.

“Yes, I’m meant to be, but I just got a call from my commanding officer, there’s an emergency and they need me there ASAP. Call to duty and all that.”

Emma knew he was lying, her superpower was ringing frantic alarm bells in her head. “I’ll get Henry, we’ll come with you—”

“No!” he nearly shouted, eyes widening in alarm. “I mean, there’s no need, love. I can get a taxi to Portland then catch the train. I just need to pick up a few things from your house, then I’ll be off.”

She was pretty sure he’d never called it _you_ _r_ _house_ before, and suddenly she was angry.

“Why are you lying to me?” she snarled.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Superpower, remember? Every single thing you just said is a lie, except the part about the train. Why are you lying?”

“He sighed. “Swan, please, just let it go.”

“No! I’m tired of you shutting me out! What is the _matter_ with you? I know it’s not Belle, so—”

“Belle?”

“—so what is it? Why are you abandoning me?”

Temper flared in his eyes. “Don’t you dare accuse me of abandoning you. I am _not_ Henry’s bloody father. I’ll see you when I am next on leave, should you wish it. _I_ simply do not wish to remain here and dance attendance on you like some sort of lap dog whilst you make eyes at your new boyfriend.”

“What boyfriend?”

“Graham.” He hissed the name.

“Graham is not my boyfriend!”

“Perhaps not yet, but you certainly appeared headed in that direction last night.”

She flushed slightly, remembering how she’d acted with Graham the night before, realising how it could easily have been construed as flirting. If she was honest with herself, she’d have to admit that a part of her had intended it to be construed that way, had hoped it would make Killian jealous, draw out any feelings he had for her, maybe make him confess them, take the plunge first so she wouldn’t have to. But what if he had no feelings to confess? What happened then?

This, apparently. He’d just leave.

So that was it. Killian was leaving her, letting her go be with another man. _He’s giving you what he thinks you want,_ her subconscious reproached her _. Because he doesn’t know what you really want._ But what did _he_ want? She knew she should ask, but she was too angry, too upset to find the words.

The tears she’d been holding back all day welled in her eyes and began to flow down her cheeks in an unquenchable flood. She tried to brush them away but they kept coming, pouring out of her and drenching her face, dripping down her chin onto her dress. Emma was certain she had never cried like this before, her tears arising not from anger or frustration but from soul-deep sadness and hopeless despair.

Killian stared at her, astonished. Pain flashed across his features and he took a step towards her, reaching out as if to touch her before visibly restraining himself, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “What the devil is wrong?” he asked gruffly. He’d seen Emma cry before, in anger or frustration or worry for Henry, but never like this, like her heart was breaking.

“Nothing,” she turned away, still brushing at her cheeks, trying in vain to dry them. “It’s nothing, just go.”

Killian struggled with himself for a brief moment before striding over and wrapping her in his arms. No matter the circumstances or the state of things between them, he couldn’t allow her to weep uncomforted. Each tear tore a new hole in his already battered heart. She turned in his arms and closed her own tightly around him, sobbing into his shoulder. “What is it, darling?” he asked, unable to fathom her mood, unable to stop his hand from stroking her hair. “What’s upset you so?”

“It’s just— I just hoped— everybody said so, and I thought— I thought—”

“What did you think, love?”

She sniffled and pulled out of his embrace, turning away from him again.

“Everyone always thinks we’re a couple,” she said in a voice so low he could barely hear her. “They’re always so surprised when we say we’re not.”

“Aye.” He had no idea where she was going with this.

“Did you ever think… I mean, Mary Margaret said, and Belle, they both said, even Graham said, and I just thought— oh, fuck it.” She gave a frustrated huff and waved her hand at him. “It was stupid, I shouldn’t have listened to any of them. I know you don’t want me that way.”

She sounded so sorrowful, and despite his heart aching at her pain, Killian suddenly found it hard to breathe, a hope he had never allowed himself to feel blossoming in his chest. “What way?"

Emma turned, her smile bright and false. “As more than a friend.”

He swallowed hard, wondering if she could possibly mean what he thought she meant. “Is that really what you think? That I don’t want you?”

Her smile grew a fraction brighter, a hair more fake.“Well, I _know_ it now.”

Killian knew he had to breathe soon or he would pass out, but the air wouldn’t enter his lungs as the tiny bud of hope in his chest began to bloom and he groped for the words she needed to hear. “Emma,” he said, opting for the plain truth and trusting her superpower would make her believe it, “I have wanted you every second of every day for five bloody years.”

She caught her breath, her gaze flying to meet his. Her eyes were wide, red-rimmed and glistening with tears, her face wet and blotchy. He couldn’t recall her ever looking more beautiful.

“You have?” she whispered, and he saw hope in her eyes that mirrored his own.

“Aye.” He stepped closer, reaching out to brush the hair off her face. _Just tell her,_ he thought, _what have you got to lose?_ He cupped her face in his hand, wiping away her tears with his thumb. “I love you,” he said softly. “Ever since you kissed me in that bar and wiped every coherent thought from my mind, I have been hopelessly in love with you.”

Her hand came up to cover his where it still lay on her cheek, the other fisting in his shirtfront. “But… Milah…”

“A distraction, or rather a poor attempt at one,” he said. “I tried to find someone else, tried for years, but it was useless. You’re it for me, Emma, forever. I understand if you don’t feel the same, but you mustn’t ever think that I don’t want you.”

The fist in his shirtfront pounded on his chest. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Bad form, forcing attentions on a woman who isn’t interested,” he replied, watching her closely. “And I valued our friendship too much to do anything to ruin it. But if I had any reason, even the _smallest_ reason to believe that you _were_ interested, there are no lengths to which I wouldn’t go to win your heart.”

She seemed to struggle for a moment, disbelief warring with hope on her face until finally she smiled. “You’ve already won it,” she said. “You won it years ago. Maybe not _ever_ since that kiss, but certainly for a very long time.”

He fought back his own disbelief. “Do you mean that?” he whispered.

She nodded. “I love you, Killian. I’m not with Graham or anyone else. There hasn’t been anyone else, there couldn’t be.” She gave a little self-deprecating laugh. “I couldn’t even acknowledge how I felt about you until yesterday morning, but I must have known subconsciously or something because I couldn’t stand for anyone else to touch me. It felt like cheating on you.” Killian recalled all the times he’d gone to bed with a woman, how each time he’d struggled with the sickening feeling that he was betraying Emma. That was guilt he’d have to deal with, but it could wait for another day.

“Gods,” he groaned, pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly, fingers tangling in the ends of her hair. “What a pair of fools we’ve been.”

She snuggled into his embrace, nuzzling his neck, her lips finding the curve of his jaw and pressing soft kisses along it. He pulled back just enough to look at her face, and the love and desire he saw in her eyes had blood pounding in his ears and pooling in his groin. He brushed her hair back from her face then sank his fingers into it, curling them around the back of her head and pulling her lips to his. 

Emma moaned, standing on her toes to deepen the kiss, and for a moment Killian allowed himself to get lost in her, revelling in the knowledge that this was real, that Emma wanted him, that she was kissing him of her own volition, her lips hot and her judgment unimpaired. But then she was pushing him back towards the small bed, her hands pulling his shirt from his trousers so she could run them up his back, and with a herculean effort he pulled his mouth from hers and put his hands on her shoulders to halt her. “Love, wait—” he began.

“We’ve waited five years,” she interrupted. “I don’t want to wait a _single second_ longer.”

“No, nor I, but—” he broke off on a moan as she began kissing his neck, her hands again finding the bare skin of his back, “—but not here. Emma, stop,” he set her away from him as gently as possible and took a step back. She looked confused for a moment then mutinous.

“Why the hell not here?” she demanded.

Killian took several deep breaths, calming himself, regaining some control over his body. “I have been dreaming of making love to you for five years,” he replied, his voice steady now, “and at no point did my dreams involve your childhood bedroom and two hundred people partying downstairs.”

“But—”

“No, Swan, it is out of the question.” He tucked his shirt back in and pulled out his phone. “Now, what is the nearest town to Storybrooke, love?”

Emma blinked in confusion, but he appeared perfectly serious. “Um, it’s called Misthaven. It’s about forty-five minutes away.”

“Is there an inn there?”

A brilliant smile broke across her face as she caught his meaning. “Yeah, there is. A good one, I think. I can call—”

“No, let me. You go find Mary Margaret’s mother and see if she’ll mind looking after Henry until tomorrow morning. I’ll pack some things for you and make a reservation. We’ll meet at the car in twenty minutes.”

He was standing tall and straight, his military posture evident in the set of his shoulders and the way he always seemed to brace himself like he was standing on the deck of a ship. The expression on his face was authoritative, his voice firm, its tone that of someone who was accustomed to his orders being followed without question. Emma’s heart thundered in her chest. This must be how he looked on his ship, she thought. It was a _very_ good look on him. She nodded her agreement then grabbed him close for a quick, hot kiss before heading off to find Eva.

 

Twenty minutes later she had secured supervision for Henry until the following morning, and said goodbye to her son, explaining that she and Killian had some important things to do and they would see him in the morning. Henry only half-listened, his attention focused on the game he was playing with Roland and the other kids. Emma felt a twinge of guilt for leaving him just so she and Killian could have sex, but she knew he’d be in good hands and would barely even notice they were gone.

“It’s only a few hours,” she told herself. A few hours alone with Killian and a big, soft bed. Every nerve in her body was dancing with anticipation.

Killian was waiting for her when she arrived at the car, looking calm, almost stern, but Emma noticed him fiddling with the zipper on his duffel and knew that he was as antsy as she was.

“Everything sorted, love?” he asked, and she nodded. “Excellent, let’s be off.”

The drive to the inn in Misthaven took less time than Emma had expected. She may have been driving a bit fast. Killian, who was normally quick to chastise her for speeding, said nothing, though she caught him glancing at the speedometer more than once. Check-in was smooth and quick, and before they knew it they were standing in a lovely room with an ornate inglenook fireplace, an antique claw-foot tub, and a king size canopied bed, nervously avoiding each other’s eyes.

The silence stretched past the point of awkwardness and into pure discomfort, as they both searched for something — _anything_ — to say, each terrified of saying the wrong thing and ruining their first proper night together before it even began.

 _This is ridiculous,_ thought Emma, _he’s your best friend, he knows you better than anyone. There’s nothing to be nervous about._

Except they were about to move irrevocably beyond the boundaries of their friendship, and that _was_ nerve-wracking.

“So, should we—”

“Why don’t I—”

They spoke in unison and then broke off at the same time, finally meeting each other’s eyes, then the absurdity of the situation dawned on them and they burst into laughter, their mirth diffusing the tension to bearable levels.

“I don’t want this to be weird,” said Emma. “How do we make it not weird?”

“Perhaps we should start with something familiar?” Killian stepped forward and took her into his arms, wrapping them securely around her and tucking her head under his chin. They’d shared a hundred such hugs in their five years of friendship, and Emma felt herself relaxing into the comfort and security of it.

They stood silently for a moment, before Killian spoke. “Every time I held you like this I wanted to kiss you,” he murmured in her ear, his voice making her shiver as he mirrored his words with actions. “I wanted to touch your hair,” …gently stroking the length of it then twining his fingers into the soft strands… “and taste your lips,” …tilting her head back and brushing his mouth across hers… “gently at first then rougher as you opened your mouth for me,” …deepening the kiss, stroking her tongue with his… “I wanted to hold you against me properly and let you feel how much I want you,” …his hand sliding down her body to cup her ass and pull her hips firmly against his… She hummed in pleasure at the feel of his erection pressed against her, at the excitement that the raw desire in his words had sent coursing through her. Killian sighed, resting his forehead against hers. “It’s been so bloody hard hiding my feelings for you, Emma. I honestly don’t know how I managed it.”

“It’s been hard for me too,” she said. “But that’s all over now, Killian, and I— I want to make up for lost time. All the things you wanted to do with me over the years, I want to do them now. Tell me about them. Show me.”

“Mostly I wanted to kiss you,” he said, dropping his mouth to hers again and doing just that. “I lived on the memory of that kiss in the bar, and tried not to let myself think about too much else, for the sake of my sanity. But sometimes in my weaker moments I thought of moving lower… kissing down your neck and shoulder… you have the most elegant neck… then I’d slip your dress off and take your breasts in my hands and then in my mouth… gods, they are beautiful, love, better than any of my fantasies…” He sucked her nipple into his mouth and ran his tongue across it, drawing a ragged moan from her. He feasted on her breasts, licking and nipping and sucking them as she began to pant and writhe in his arms, leaning heavily on the one supporting her back as her legs slowly turned to jelly. He pushed her dress down her hips, letting it pool on the floor, then scooped her up and carried her to the bed. Setting her down on its edge, he trailed his lips down her belly, spreading her legs wide and nuzzling the blonde curls between them. “And then,” he said, “After thoroughly worshipping your gorgeous body, I’d finally get to taste you.” 

Emma had never been a big fan of oral sex. In her admittedly fairly limited experience men rarely knew what to do down there and treated the whole matter as a chore to be gotten through so they could pressure her into a blow job or just fuck her without any other foreplay. But Killian’s delighted moan as he inhaled her scent and the eager way he licked through her folds, using his whole mouth to pleasure her, soon wiped all other men from her consciousness. It felt so good she could barely breathe, panting and gasping and clamping her thighs like a vice around his head to keep him between them. When he sucked her clit and pressed his tongue firmly against it, she came, screaming his name and bucking her hips helplessly against his face, the intensity of her release leaving her both boneless and energised, desperately eager to touch him but unable to summon the strength.

He trailed kisses back up her body to her mouth, where she met him eagerly, thrilled by the taste of herself on his tongue, blending with his own unique flavour that she loved so much. Forcing her arms to move, she reached up and tugged on his shirt.

“Killian,” she said, her voice weak and hoarse.

“Yes, love?” His voice was also rough, his eyes fiercely hot as he met her gaze.

“I want to see you.”

He shed his clothes rapidly, despite his trembling hands, and when he crawled back beside her on the bed she wore an odd little smile.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. It’s just… you’re beautiful.”

“I believe that’s what _I_ say to _you_ ,” he joked, but she didn’t laugh.

“No, I’m serious. You are beautiful, Killian. I mean, people call you hot all the time, but that’s so, I don’t know… flippant. Like, it describes you physically but that’s not the whole you. You’re also strong and brave and caring and kind and I just don’t know what I’d have done all these years without you.” She paused, fighting to find the right way to tell him how she felt, wishing she could speak of it easily as he did, but words had never been her strong suit, at least not where her emotions were concerned. “As much as I’ve always been attracted to you, cared about you, I don’t think I was ready for… for _this_ … until now.But you stayed anyway, you kept coming back…”

There were tears in his eyes as he stroked her face with his fingertips, reverently, as though he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch her, despite them lying naked in bed together, despite the orgasm he’d just given her. “Of course I did, I couldn’t not. I needed to be with you, in whatever capacity you wished. I love you so damned much, Emma,” he whispered. “I would never have imagined it possible to love someone like this, like my heart can barely contain it. I would do anything for you. I would—”

“Shhh,” she said, “I love you too. Let me— let me show you.”

He nodded, and she pushed him back onto the bed, throwing her leg over his hips to straddle him. She felt his erection hard and straining against her thigh, and part of her wanted to leap on it, to take him inside her and ride him as she had so often dreamed of doing, but she also wanted him to understand that this was lovemaking for her as well, that she understood the strength of his feelings because hers were just as strong.

She combed her fingers through his hair then down his face, trailing kisses along his jawline and down his neck to the anchor tattoo on his shoulder. “When did you get this?” she asked, tracing it with her fingertips.

“When I joined the navy,” he replied. “Liam had the same.”

“And this?” she brushed her lips over the stylised rose twined around an old-fashioned compass on his right pec.

“Liam died shortly after I was promoted to Commander, I got that one to commemorate both things.”

“And this one?” She sat back and lifted his right arm, indicating the small scattering of stars on the upper forearm. “I’ve seen this before, of course, but I’ve never been able to figure out what it is.”

He flushed slightly. “It’s the stars in the constellation Cygnus. The swan.”

Her eyes flew to his. “Is that for…”

“For you, yes. I got that the day I left Boston after meeting you.”

She leaned down and kissed him, stroking her fingers through the hair on his chest. “I love it,” she declared, barely moving her lips from his. “I love you for getting it. I just love you.”

His hands came up to tangle in her hair, cupping her head to hold her close while they ravaged each other’s mouths. He rolled them over so that she was beneath him, the weight of him between her legs and his hard length rubbing against her wet folds so pleasurable that it took her a moment to notice that he was leaning over the edge of the bed to rummage in his duffel, finally producing a small foil packet. Emma felt a twinge of embarrassment, realising that protection hadn’t even crossed her mind. She had been out of the game a long time. Unlike Killian, evidently.

Fortunately she had no time to ruminate on that unpleasant topic, because Killian had the condom on in seconds and was kissing her again, his hand stroking down her body, spreading her legs wide to accommodate him, finally bringing the head of his cock to her entrance.

“Emma, love,” he whispered. “Are you ready?”

She met his eyes, their blue almost eclipsed by the black of his pupils, and she nodded. “ _So_ ready,” she said.

He thrust into her with a smooth stroke and she gasped, the feeling of being stretched and filled both welcome and slightly jarring. He was bigger than the other men she’d been with, and she hadn’t been with anyone in so long...

He gave her a moment to adjust to him, gave himself a moment to savour the exquisite feeling of her body around him, so excruciatingly tight and wet and warm, before beginning to move, slowly at first then picking up speed as she began to hum in pleasure beneath him, raking her nails down his back and rocking her hips up to meet him. He kept his pace measured, not wanting to overwhelm her and slightly concerned that if he fucked her as he truly wished to he would come embarrassingly quickly. But Emma was in no mood for measured. She hadn’t gotten laid in four years, four years during which she had spent far too much time fantasising about Killian, about how he would feel inside her and how he would move, and what she would do to him if she ever had the chance. What he would do to her. Now it was finally, _finally_ happening but she could sense that he was holding back, and that was the last thing she wanted. She wanted him, all of him. She wanted the man beneath the iron self-control, and she wanted that man to fuck her for all he was worth.

Threading her fingers into his hair, she pulled him down and licked a trail up his neck, then sucked gently on the sensitive spot behind his ear. His rhythm faltered, and she sucked harder. He moaned. “Emma—”

She pulled her mouth from his skin and brought it up to his ear. “More, Killian,” she growled. “This feels so good, but I want more. Harder.”

“Love—”

“I want everything, fuck me with everything you have.”

“Bloody hell.”

“Please, Killian, I love you. I want all of you. Don’t hold anything back.”

She could sense the exact moment when he snapped, when his fingers dug into her hips with bruising force and he began to pound himself into her, driving her deep into the mattress and slamming the headboard into the wall. His hand raked down her leg, pulling it over his shoulder so he could thrust even more deeply into her. She gasped as his cock hit her in just the right spot, thrilled to the bone by this turn of events. She clung to his arms, fingernails carving crescent moons into his biceps, and watched him, watched the intense, almost pained look on his face transform into ecstasy as she clenched her inner muscles around him and he came hard, his gasping cry in her ear and the feel of his cock twitching inside her sending her flying over the edge right behind him.

She held him tightly as they came down from their high, not letting him roll away, wanting his weight on her.

“Emma,” he panted into her hair. “Love, I— I’m sorry—”

“Don’t you dare apologise,” she said. “That was incredible.”

“I didn’t hurt you?”

“Of course not! I loved every second.”

“I don’t usually… I mean, I’m usually more…”

“More in control of yourself.”

“Aye.”

“You don’t have to be, you know,” she said, keeping her voice casual but watching him carefully. “You don’t have to be so careful around me all the time.”

“I do,” he retorted. “If you knew what I was thinking much of the time you’d want to slap me.”

“Or maybe I’d want to do exactly what you were thinking about. I’m usually thinking pretty raunchy things about you too.” She stroked his face, running her thumb over the scar on his cheek. “I know you don’t like not being in control, babe, and I respect that, but please don’t hide yourself from me. I can take it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Babe?” he said teasingly, but behind his smirk she saw a hint of relief, felt him relax as he accepted her love, accepted that she loved _all_ of him and not just the carefully controlled face he presented to the world.

“Yep. That’s what I call you now. You got a problem with that?”

“I think I can learn to live with it,” he said dryly, but he wasn’t fooling her. He looked _delighted_.

“Well, then, _babe_ , what do you say we get some room service before round two? I am starving.”

“Very well, but only if this ‘round two’ you speak of involves you demonstrating some of these raunchy thoughts you apparently are always having about me.”

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached the point in this tale where backstories are going to come into play, but I've realised that it doesn't really make sense to include them in the narrative, since Emma and Killian have been friends for years and already know each other's histories. So I hope you'll indulge me in this little diversion to explain what's going on with each of them.  
> Emma's story begins with canon: she is still abandoned at birth and spends years in foster care, however she is adopted by Ruth when she is 13, so she has a relatively normal high school experience then goes to Boston College. She still meets Neal, who still knocks her up and abandons her, but she is older -- 20 and a sophomore in college. They meet when he steals the Bug, which is hers already, a graduation present from Ruth. He talks her out of turning him in, they date, she tries to get him to go straight but he doesn't really want to and is overwhelmed when she gets pregnant, so he runs away. No watches, no jail time. She has to quit school when Henry is born, but she has Ruth and David supporting her so is able to study part time and get her degree, then Jefferson hires her as his personal assistant/media manager when he invents a popular app and becomes a tech millionaire.  
> When they meet, Emma is 22 and Killian is 27.  
> Killian's backstory is much the same as I described it in Raised With The Fume Of Sighs, but with one key difference: he has a grandmother, his mother's mother, who becomes his and Liam's main caregiver after their mom dies. Their father is still a POS and disappears but they are less traumatised by it because they still have a loving relative to look after them. Liam doesn't have to take responsibility for Killian so is able to be a kid himself and the brothers have a more traditional sibling relationship. Liam goes to Bristol University to study engineering then joins the navy and soon becomes an officer. Killian doesn't have to be sent away for school because he can live with his grandmother, but he is still a gifted student so he goes to Bristol Grammar School instead of Eton and then to Oxford where he studies mathematics and modern languages. He joins the navy but Liam is proud of him for it and there is no jealousy or resentment between them. Liam is killed when there is an accident on his ship and he dies saving his crew. Killian is still devastated of course, but proud his brother died heroically and so has no reason to leave the navy. Instead he continues his impressive career there and gets made captain quite young.  
> So basically we have an Emma and a Killian who have had tough times but aren't as broken as they were on the show; the existence of just one or two people who are there to love & support them -- Ruth and David for Emma and his grandmother for Killian -- has made all the difference for both of them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Yeah. It’s been a while. I kinda lost my mojo for this story for a while, but I did promise all the WIPs would be finished (and promised the many, many anons asking about this one that I hadn’t forgotten it) so tada! I hope you guys can remember what’s been happening because I sure can’t. 
> 
> Only kidding (a little). When we left off Emma and Killian had finally got their act together and admitted their feelings after five years of friendship. This chapter opens with them at a B&B outside of Storybrooke the morning after.

For the first time in her life —though definitely not, she promised herself, the last— Emma woke up in Killian’s arms and felt no sadness, no longing or sense of loss when she came fully awake. Instead she felt simply happy, a wide smile spreading across her face as she snuggled into his chest as his arms tightened around her, and she could hear the answering smile in the voice that rumbled in her ear. 

“Morning, love,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

“Mmmmm,” said Emma. “Wonderful. You?”

“Like I’m waking up from a dream, only to find myself in a better dream.” He chuckled. “What time is it?”

Emma groped for the clock on the bedside table. “Six thirty. Ugh, why am I awake now?”

Killian was nuzzling beneath her ear. “I may have been… subtly trying to wake you for the past, oh, fifteen minutes or so.” 

“You wake up soooo early,” she groaned, tilting her head back to give him access to her neck. “I’m not sure this relationship is going to work after all.” 

“Ah, well, we gave it a try,” he murmured against the underside of her jaw. “Perhaps just one last kiss before we end it?”

“Well if you insis—” Emma broke off as Killian’s lips captured hers in a kiss that started out soft but soon grew deep and hot. His hand slid down her body to nestle between her legs, stroking her gently, and it felt so damn good to have him finally touch her the way she’d dreamed he would but when she lifted her leg to give him greater access she couldn’t help letting out a groan that was decidedly not one of passion. 

“What’s wrong, love?” Killian, of course, spotted the difference instantly. 

“Nothing, I’m fine.” He raised an eyebrow at her and she sighed. “I’m just a litte sore is all. It’s— well, it’s been a while since I, um—” 

“Aye,” he said, understanding. “Well. Allow me to introduce you to one of the benefits of early rising, my love.”  
“And what’s that?” She felt an inch away from pouting when he withdrew his hand, and the kiss he dropped on her forehead did not make up for its loss.   
“It leaves you more than enough time to have a long, hot bath before checkout.” He grinned at her. “What do you say?”

“I say that sounds perfect. But only if you join me.” Her thoughts were already swirling with ideas of what she might do to him in a bathtub. 

His grin turned wicked. “You read my mind, Swan.” 

\----

 They soaked in the bath for over an hour, kissing and caressing, and just enjoying the freedom to touch each other as much as they liked and talk openly about the feelings they’d been suppressing for five long years. When they finally got out the bathwater was cold but the soreness had gone from Emma’s muscles and she felt more relaxed and content than she ever had before in her life. 

Killian called for room service while Emma dried her hair and when she emerged from the bathroom the small table in the nook formed by the bay window, was laid with eggs and bacon and toast and fruit, and bathed in the bright morning sunlight. She was famished, she realised, but not so desperate for food that she didn’t squeeze Killian again before she sat down and dug in. She wondered if she’d ever get used to this freedom to touch him. She hoped not, she never wanted to take him for granted. 

“What are we going to tell Henry?” she asked after they had eaten in silence for a few minutes. 

“What might we need to tell him?” Killian looked slightly alarmed.

“Well, he might have some questions when we suddenly start kissing all the time.” 

His expression relaxed. “And do you plan on kissing me all the time now, Swan?”

She batted her lashes at him. “Allll the time,” she purred. 

He chuckled, then his face became serious. “On the subject of Henry, I actually did wish to speak to you about something.” 

“Something bad?” she asked, concerned by his solemn tone.

“Well, I certainly hope not. I was just thinking, and I know we have literally only just got together but I’ve been thinking about this for some time, and— well, to put it simply, I’d like to adopt Henry.”

Emma’s heart leapt, then thundered. This was more than she had anticipated. “You would?”

He nodded, holding her gaze. “Aye, very much. If I’m honest, I’ve thought of  him as my son for some time now, and he— he’s given me to understand that he feels the same.” 

A small smile crept across her face. “He asked you to be his dad, didn’t he?”

“Aye.” 

Of course he had. “He asked me the same. I think we can assume he’d be on board with an adoption.” 

Killian smiled but his eyes were brimming with uncertainty. “And what about you, love, would you be equally on board?”

She would, Emma realised. As scary as all this abrupt change was, she wanted nothing more than for her son to have this man as his father. “I mean, of course I would,” she said slowly. “You’ve been in his life since he was six months old. You’re the only father he knows. And even if— if things didn’t— work out between us, even though I definitely think they will despite how freaking early you wake up, but even if they didn’t I’m sure you would still want to be in Henry’s life.” 

“I would indeed.” 

“I’d want that too. I can’t imagine anything that could make me not want it. But adoption is a big step, are you sure…”  

“It is a big step,” Killian acknowledged, “but there are practical factors involved in this as well you know, love, as well as emotional ones. 

“Practical factors?”

“Aye, for instance I have quite a generous Navy pension, and if anything happened to me when I was on duty—”

Emma nearly dropped her fork as a stab of fear pierced her. “What the hell do you mean _if anything happened to you_?” she nearly shouted. “What might happen to you?”  

Killian looked surprised at her vehemence. “I’m the captain of a guided missile destroyer, Emma, it’s a rather more hazardous than a desk job. Many things could happen to me.”

“ _Seriously_?” Of course she’d always known that Killian’s job was dangerous but now that she finally had a chance at a relationship with him the thought of anything taking him from her was unbearable. 

He laughed softly and took her hand. “I’m very good at my job, love, and I don’t take unnecessary risks. But there are dangers inherent in any military career and I’d just feel better knowing that if anything did happen to me the two people I love most in the world would be taken care of. Of course I know you can take care of yourself and of Henry perfectly well on your own,” he added quickly when he saw the protest forming on her lips, “but think about it this way. My pension would pay for Henry to go to any university he wished.”

“It’s that big, huh?” She widened her eyes to let him know the double entendre was intentional. 

He smirked in response. “It is quite impressive. And if I adopt Henry it can go to him.”

“I’d like that,” she said softly. “Truly, I would. Not for the pension, though having that freedom for Henry’s future would be amazing, but because you _are_ his dad and you always have been, and I’d like for that to be legal.” 

His smile was radiant, and when he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it she nearly melted into a puddle. How had she managed to resist her feelings for him for so long? 

“I can’t quite believe all this is real,” he said. “Twenty-four hours ago I’d have declared it completely impossible.” 

“Me too, on both counts.” Emma squeezed his hand. 

“And you’re sure you’re okay with all of this?” Killian asked, worry creeping into his voice. “It’s a lot of big changes, a lot to adjust to.”

“Yeah, it is, but at the same time… it isn’t? I mean, we’ve been in a relationship for years, Killian. Mary Margaret opened my eyes to that. Nothing substantive is actually going to change between us, we’ll still be living our same lives, it’s just now we get to act like a couple—”

“—and sleep together, don’t forget, I’d say that’s a pretty substantive change—”

“—and sleep together, yes, which is definitely a big deal and might be weird for a while, but honestly I am so happy and excited I think I can deal with a little weirdness.” She smiled at him, a little scared, a little shy, but completely radiant. “I just want us to be a family. Officially, I mean, we’ve really always been one.”  

Killian was looking at her liked she’d put the sun and all the stars in his sky. Slowly he stood and pulled her to her feet, wrapping her tightly in his arms. “That’s all I want,” he whispered into her hair, “It’s all I’ve wanted since the day we met. I love you so much, Emma.”  

She hugged him back equally tightly. “I love you so much too,” she said, her words muffled against his chest. 

They stood entwined until the clock on the mantelpiece chirped to remind them of the hour. Emma pulled back and looked up, smiling softly at the happiness on Killian’s face, knowing it was reflected on her own. “Let’s get Henry and go home,” she said. 

“Home,” repeated Killian, almost in wonder. “Aye. Let’s do that.” 

\---

They said nothing to Henry until they were back in Boston, but as soon as the bags were unpacked and they’d all had a snack and a toilet break they knew they couldn’t wait any longer. Henry was grumpy, tired after the excitement of the last few days and already missing Roland. He was sitting on the floor constructing a fortress out of Lego when Emma called to him. 

“Henry, come here, please. We need to talk to you.” 

“No.” 

“Henry! Come here right now.”

“I wanna plaaay,” whined Henry. 

“You can play later, now let’s talk.” Emma used her this-is-my-final-word voice, and hoped like hell he wouldn’t try to fight her. 

Henry stuck out his lower lip and dragged his feet as he walked over to where Emma and Killian were sitting on the sofa. 

“What?” he said. 

“Come sit here, lad,” Killian patted the cushion between himself and Emma. “And stop pouting, if you please.” Henry’s lip pulled back in almost of its own accord, and Emma hid a grin. Killian’s Captain voice was far more effective than her this-is-my-final-word one. That was going to come in handy. 

Henry sat on the sofa where Killian had indicated, and Emma’s hand of its own accord reached out to brush the hair off his forehead. Her sweet baby boy, she thought. He was going to be so thrilled. There was a small, selfish part of her that ached a bit at the idea of sharing him; even though Killian had helped her raise him almost from the beginning, she alone had been the legal guardian, the decision maker, and now she was relinquishing half of that guardianship to someone else. It was the right decision for all three of them and she was ecstatic about it, but also still a tiny bit sad. 

“Henry,” Killian began, “Your mum and I have been talking and we have something we’d like to ask you.” 

Henry seemed finally to pick up on the excitement underneath Emma and Killian’s solemn faces. “What is it?” he asked, brightening. 

“How would you feel,” Killian cleared his throat, “Ahem, how would you feel about me adopting you?”

Henry frowned. “What’s ‘dopting me?”

“ _A_ -dopting you. It means that I would, well, effectively I’d become your father.” 

Henry’s eyes widened and he began to tremble with excitement. 

“You’d be my dad?” he shouted.

“Aye, I wou— ugh!” Killian’s breath whooshed out as Henry launched himself into his solar plexus. 

“That’s what I want more than anything,” cried Henry, his small arms squeezing Killian tightly. “But I asked and you and Mom both said no!” 

“Aye, well, we’ve changed our minds.” Killian hugged Henry back. “If you agree, then we—”

“I agree! Agree agree agreeeeee—”

Killian’s face was lit with delight. “All right, lad, we get the idea—”

“Can I call you Dad right away? Can I do it now?”

“I’d like that very much,” said Killian in a choked voice. 

“If you’re my dad do we have the same name?”

“Well—” Killian shot a pleading look at Emma, but she just shrugged. “He’s your kid,” she mouthed with a smirk that softened as awe broke across his face. 

“My kid…” he whispered. 

Henry, oblivious to the exchange between the adults, had already moved on to other topics. “How long does ‘doption take?” he asked, settling into Killian’s lap and wriggling until he was comfortable. “Does this mean you won’t go back to your ship?”  

“Er, it can take some time I think and no, I still have to go back, it’s my job. But maybe one day you and your mum can come with me and see the ship. Would you like that?”

“YEAH!!”

“I’m going to go make dinner,” Emma mouthed to Killian over the top of Henry’s head. Her son was obviously full of questions and she thought she’d leave him and his dad alone to discuss the details of their new relationship. 

Henry and his dad. She couldn’t stop her eyes from welling up at the thought of it. Maybe she’d take a minute in the bathroom before starting dinner, she thought. 

\---

Henry could barely sit still during dinner or stop talking long enough to actually eat, but together Emma and Killian managed to coax enough food down him to see him adequately nourished. After dinner he insisted on taking out his globe and asking Killian to tell him stories about all the places on it. After that he insisted on Killian supervising his bath and bedtime, at which point he _insisted_ on another story —or three— to help him fall asleep. By the time he was finally down and Killian returned to the living room and collapsed on the couch, Emma had cleaned the entire kitchen, run the dishwasher, and picked up most of Henry’s toys. 

“Bloody hell, love, I don’t know how you manage this on your own,” Killian said, massaging his temples. 

“Welcome to parenthood,” said Emma. 

“Aye, it’s actually starting to feel real.” He sat up to make room for her on the sofa, wrapping his arm around her shoulders when she snuggled next to him. “We should probably talk about how things will change after the adoption, love, and with us… now. What’s going to happen with us.” 

“Yeah, we probably should,” said Emma. “Later. Right now I want to make out with you here on this sofa, because I’ve decided we are going to do all the things I’ve ever imagined us doing together, which is a _long_ list so we need to get started on it right away, and after the making out I am definitely going to want you to carry me to my bedroom and do many unspeakable things to me.” 

He pulled her up until she was straddling his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs. “Hmmm, well if you insist,” he murmured, kissing her neck as his hand tangled in her hair.  

“I definitely do.” 

\---

Killian woke early, of course. He always did, even when sleeping late was an option. His body was simply too conditioned to life in the Navy to do otherwise. Although when Killian was off duty he liked to take the opportunity to shake off the military a bit, let his hair get a bit messy and be comfortable in the old band t-shirts he’d worn at university, there were some things that were just ingrained.

One of the things he appreciated most about Boston and specifically Emma’s house was how far removed it was from his naval life. He loved that life, loved the navy, but being a Royal Navy officer carried a great deal of responsibility. While Killian was more than capable of shouldering that responsibility he was not ashamed to admit that the constant strain of it took a great deal out of him and during his leave he was grateful to be as far removed from it as possible, to relax and recharge and let loose the parts of himself that he had to keep tightly reined in when on duty. 

Yet he still couldn’t shake the early rising. 

Opting this time to allow Emma to sleep —she didn’t have to go back to work until the next day, and she could use her rest after the night they’d had— he eased out of her bed, pressing a kiss to her temple before he went, and pulled on sweatpants and an ancient t-shirt before silently slipping from the room. Perhaps he’d make them some breakfast, he thought. There was sure to be pancake mix in Emma’s cupboard and they’d picked up milk and eggs at the store before coming home the day before. 

He had just put on a pot of coffee and was beginning to assemble the pancake ingredients when Henry —also an early riser— appeared in the kitchen door. 

“Morning, Dad!” he cried, running to give Killian a hug. 

Killian smiled as he returned his son’s hug and his heart tripped in his chest, and he wondered how long it would be until the sound of Henry calling him “Dad” stopped making him feel so gooey inside. He hoped it would take years. He didn’t ever want to take the gift of Henry or Emma for granted. 

“Morning, lad. Keep your voice down, your mum’s still asleep.” He poured orange juice into a small plastic cup and held it out to Henry, who downed it in huge, glugging gulps. “How about pancakes for breakfast?” he asked, when the juice was gone. 

“Okay! Can I watch TV until they’re ready?”

“Yes, but not too loud, remember your mum.” 

Henry raced into the living room and Killian listened at the kitchen door until he ascertained that the television volume was not at a level that would disturb Emma, then went to mix the pancakes, humming to himself as he did. 

He had just poured the first batch when the doorbell buzzed, startling him. Who on earth would be at the door at eight am on a random Tuesday? He debated waking Emma, but then the doorbell buzzed again and he reasoned that if she hadn’t woken on her own by now she was probably sleeping deeply enough that rousing her sufficiently to deal with a visitor would likely take some time. Switching off the burner just to be safe, he went to the door, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel and tossing it over his shoulder before turning the knob. 

The door opened to reveal a man standing on the doorstep with his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, his shoulders hunched in a defensive manner that gave the impression of being habitual. He was a few inches shorter than Killian but appeared to be around the same age, though the weary lines on his face and the grey at his temples spoke of a life that had been lived hard. The man looked up when the door opened, his lips curling in an ingratiating smile. At the sight of Killian the smile shifted abruptly into a scowl and his eyes narrowed sharply before raking over the taller man, lingering slightly on his ratty t-shirt and mussed hair, on his bare feet and the towel over his shoulder. 

“Who the hell are you?” he said.

Killian did not appreciate his words or his tone. “You’re the one at my door, mate,” he retorted. “Who the hell are you?”

“This isn’t your door,” said the man. “Emma Swan owns this house, I checked.” 

Something that felt uncomfortably like fear began to curl in Killian’s chest. He had met all of Emma’s friends and most of her colleagues, but he was certain he had never laid eyes on this man before. “What’s your business with Emma?” he asked.

The man straightened his shoulders and glared defiance at Killian. “I want to talk to her,” he said. “About my son.” 

Killian’s fear was twined around his heart now, squeezing mercilessly as the world began to spin around him and he grasped the doorframe for support. “ _Your_ son?” he croaked. 

The man nodded smugly. “Oh yeah. My name’s Neal Cassidy, I’m her kid’s dad.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes OF COURSE there’s a massive cliffhanger at the end of the super-short chapter that took me six months to write. Were you expecting anything else?

**Author's Note:**

> A note or two on ranks in the Royal Navy:  
> Unlike on the show, the modern Royal Navy ranks don't go directly from Lieutenant to Captain, and not everyone who commands a ship is technically a captain. It goes Lieutenant-->Lieutenant-Commander-->Commander-->Captain, and an RN Captain is the equivalent to an Army Colonel. So Killian in this story has just been promoted to a senior officer position, and at 32 he is one of the youngest officers to hold that rank. When he met Emma, he was a Commander and had command of his own ship, hence his ease at taking charge and handling crises.


End file.
